.":■--■..

.*■ '

if

r:

*?-

;.rfiS*v:-:5 ■■■■■:

-.-.<■

'■■'■'.

u

"#

by Tomas Schuman

* Novosti (pronounced No-vas-tee) means "news" in Ru»ian language- It i« also the name of » Soviet KG IT* front for espio- nage, propaganda, disinformation and subversion. Novosti Press Agency (APN) network spreads it* tentacles all over the world. It serves the ultimate goal of the -,. Communist elite - world domination.

I worked for It.

To..** David Schuroa", : former APN-KGB^eir

Emblem of NavotH

i

Table of Contents

1. What kind of "press agency" is Novosti?

2. What do they mean by "propaganda*?

3. Novosti from roof to basement, things and people In between.

4. NovostFs "kitchen", or should we say "outhouse"?

5. One day in the life of a Novosti employee,

6. What are foreigners?

7. A loyal and dedicated stepson (or how to get recruited to the KGB).

8. A ride for Look magazine.

9. No birds with two stones.

10, In the name of World Peace,

1 1 . Dawning of ''Detente"'.

Drawings and covers by Soviet dissident artists Vyacheslav Sysoyev and Boris Mukhamedshin

ALMANAC Los Angeles, 1985

^'-i:oi-, ... .

!

• ■ ■ ■-'

v.'.:!

■■•■ .■■■'

".' ':

■.::,.■

WHAT KIND OF A "PRESS AGENCY* IS NOVOSTI?

It b "an information agency of the Soviet public organisations," — says the official Charter, — "... to promote peace aitd understand* ing between the nations of the wo rid J Ever since the Novosti Press Agency (APN) av&s established in February 1961, haidly a yeai passed without a scandalous evidence of what kind of **public** orga- nizations are using APN and for what sort of "information."

In 1963 the Government Qf the Congro Republic (Kinshasa), today — Zaire, capctlcd fot espionage and subversion a Soviet correspondent Bank Bcknazai-Yuzbashcv, an employee of two Soviet organizations, both equally "public'1; Novosti and the KGB.2 Five yeais lalti LhejoumalisLdied in Moscow, officially from blood cancel. Unofficially, according to rumors circulated among the Novosti staffer, lIic cause of death was a strange Incurable desease inoculated into him in a Congo prison by the African "brothers"as a Loken of their gratitude Tor Bcnik's far loo active work to turn the young Afiicau slate into a Soviet colony.

In May, 1963 another African country, Kenya* expelled another employee of APN-KGB, whose name was diplomatically not even meji Liu ned in the Kenya press,-*

In March, 1966 Kenya was less diplomatic in expelling yet another APN-KGB man, Yuri Kuritsin, His name was mentioned.4

In 1964, Washington received a Soviet diplomat, deputy chief cditoi of a Novosti's maga/ine, "Soviet Life", published officially by the USSR Embassy in the USA. His name was Boris Karpovieh, and he was a former deputy chairman of Nuvosii Press Agency. Comrade Kaipovich lasted as a "journalist" only till January 1965, to be ex* pclled as "peisoua noii grata."5 That did not discourage Moscow at all Ever since, that position has been occupied by a KGB man. Pre- sently, he is Olcg Benukh, my former APN boss.

In 1965, a humorous and sociable Boris Korolyov, also known among us, Novosti staffers, by the nick-name "ant", arrived in Ottawa, His affiliation with the KGB, even his rank (colonel) was well known in advance to the RCMP (Canadian counter-intelli- gence), and for that matter to the press, But Canadian press at thai time was too busy lambasting the American CIA to reveal the KGB. Korolyov enjoyed unprecedented hospitality: during the peak of the Soviet invasion into Czechoslovakia, in August 1968, Ottawa press- club kindly offered its premises to my pal Korolyov to stage a wel- coming banquet in honor of another Soviet agent arriving in Canada. He was " E3 1 a vdaV corespondent Konstantin Geivandov. I do not know how effective the two comrades were as spies (and if there were anything to spy upon in Canada under Pteue Trudeau),

^&&;^iK&;^^

::■.:■■ v ;.;■ ■ ;::.:;■:.■ ::■;:• .;:: : :^:-r; :;,::.::z .:..:■ .;..■■, : ■ .:,v : ,:.: :■:.. ■:■- :■ :■. :,;::.;;;;:.: ■ v. :; .: :.v. :., .c . :■::.:..,:;■. .-. ,:■; .' ; / ;: I

Novostt's contribution tn Congo's "liberation"

but i know that Geivandov was expelled in 1974. whilst Korolyov remained and became reknown in the press as a strong "Critic", or rather slanderer, of the exiled Kussian classic Alexander Solzhenit- syn.7

In 1977. in New Delhi, India, there was a handsome and snobish Novosti correspondent named Vladimir Sirnonov. It would be a waste or time to look for him at our headquarters in Barakhabma Road number 25. There were not too many reports by Sirnonov in the Soviet press about India. No wonder: Vladimir 5imonov was a KGB officer whose duty was not so much reporting from India, as attracting the media, diplomats and politicians into Soviet orbit. For thai activity Sirnonov had to reside separately from the Soviet diplomatic anthill, in a spacious bungalow with Indian servants and two cars. According to an American friend ot mine, UPFs foreign correspondent Dale Morsch, who met Sirnonov frequently in New Delhi, Simonov's attempts at recruitment were primitive, naive and rude. Maybe they were ... But India even now remains in the Soviet sphere of influence, government of the late prime-minister Indira Gandhi all but condoned Soviet invasion in Afghanistan, and hosted the Soviet-sponsored "Conference of the non-allied "countries toge- ther with Yasser Arafat and Fidel Castro. And Indian press remains rather anti-American despite wisdom, subtlely and politeness of the American agents, and, possibly, as a result oi "rudeness" of the

Soviet ones.

Comrade Simonov's stay in India was cloudless all the way till 1970, when 3 defected to the West. Later Sirnonov re-emerged briefly in Canada as a "press-officer" of the USSR embassy in Ottawa, when I was already employed by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC). I would not "be surprised a bit. if my former senior comrade played a part in the KGB efforts to unleash Canadian "trudeaucracy" on me and get me out of the CBCs International Broadcasting service for my "right wing extremism". . , Presently, in iwsS,as I write this book, comrade Sirnonov is accredited in New York city as a Novosti correspondent and a stringer for the Soviet "Literaturnaya Gazeta," Obvious promotion!

In 1967, Atexei Kazantsev was expelled from Ghana tor espio- nage. He was another Novosti-KGB hybrid whom I knew personally and met occasionally in Moscow in J 968, between my assignments to

India.

From 1967 or, during the annual exhibition "Expo" m Montreal, a number of my Novosti comrades were functioning as translators and electronic espionage operators ab >ard of "Alexander Pushkin", the famous KGB "love boat." One of my KGB contacts gave me a lour of the "restricted areas*, the lower decks and holds, of the ocean

: .■'■'

I

1967, Moscow, Novosti men (Victor Dubogrni in the center) seleb rating assignment to Vietnam, Below; 1976, "Killing fields" of Indochina after Soviet "fraternal aid".**

liner when it was docked in Leningrad between cruises. After my defection* 1 used that information (and some photographs) to alert the American press and the FBI to prevent admission of ^Pushkin* or similar spy-ships to Long Beach harbor during the 1984 Olympic games. With my humble com rib ution, I suspect, American conserva- tive and patriotic groups succeeded to force the Soviets uV'boycof the 1984 Olympics. Good riddance! It was the first Olympic games in the history — without dishonest Soviet State glad ia torn posing as "amateurs" . . . Also 1 credit myself with an effort to save I os Angeles from a small invasion of some 15,000 KGR agents, arriving as "guests" for the Olympics.

At the end of 1967 my former school-mate at Oriental languages Institute Viktor Dtihograi was assigned to Vietnam Officially — to Hanoi as Novosti correspondent According to "sources" — Viktor was sent fothes.n-ealleduliherateH areas"of Smith Vietnam ae one of the KGB instructors. At the very time the Soviet junta was talking about peace and denouncing the American "war crimes '\ the KGB was hurriedly creating a stand-by force of mass terror and oppression in the image of the KGR — in South Vietnam. As it became evident in April 1975, the KGB efforts were extremely "productive1': half of the population ended up in "re-education camps/1

In lune l<)68r on orders from the KGB, a large group of Novosti journalists, including myself, were conducting a secret "opinion poll'* among foreign diplomats and correspondents in Moscow: "How would their governments react to Soviet involvement in Czechoslo- vakia?" Evidently, the KGB was satisfied with the results, for on the 23-d of August, 1968, Sovie tanks crushed through streets of Prague . . . None o( the Western governments ''reacted1".

And in the morning of August 28, 1968 Novosti Press Agency staff was saying last goodbys to two of our comrades, who wrere burned alive when their army helicopter crashed near Prague, while carrying a load of propaganda designed to convince the West, that Soviet troops were "invited '"to Czechoslovakia by "patriots." Fake publica- tions were printed by the APN-KGBin Dresden. One of theroa&tcd comrades was Karl Nepomnyashchi. an old-time KGB officer.

In May, 1976, Novosti correspondent in Japan, Alexander Machekin was arrested by the police in Yokohama* when he tried to buy secret information from a junior officer from the US aircraft- carrier "Midway" docked in Yokohama.*

Between 1980 and 19155 at least a dozen Novosti-KGB agents had been expelled during massive counter-intelligence operations from several NATO countries and France. It took Western intelligence services* law-enforcement agencies and courts almost TWENTY' FOUR Y EARS (!) to start doing something to protect their countries

against APN-KGB subversion. Why so long?

15 years after my defection from the USSR embassy in India , I 5 years after I was debriefed by the American CIA and revealed the nature of APN-KGB activity in the "Third World" — more than 13 countries of Asia, Africa and Latin America had been infiltrated, demoralised, destabilised, subverted and some — INVADED by military force, and kept occupied . , . And yet, Novosti Press Agency is still officially accepted in all the capitals of the world! Once in a blue moon. Western bureaucracies "undertake drastic measures", like denying an entry visa into USA to a Novosti agent, trying to come to some "university conference". It happened recently — to a "Russian journalist" A, Makarov.1*

The above list of instances, illuminating the nature of Novosti Press Agency is far from complete. What kind of a "news agency'* is Novosti?

1. fravefa, January 4, 1961, Lve.uia, March 23, 1961,

2. The KGB. by John Barron. Readers Digest, 1974, page 513.

3. Moscow's Hand in India, by Peter Sagei. Bern. 1966, page 22.

4. East African Standard, Nairobi, Match II, 1966.

5. The KGB, by John Barron, page 524.

6. lor onto Sun newspaper, January 17, 1974.

7. The Last Circle, collection of article* on Sol/Jicnitsyn. APN, 1974,

S. The Montreal Siart May 14, 1976. 9. UP J. August 20, 1984.

The geographical location of Novosti Press Agency is a sort of spatial trick: headquarters of the APN located at Pushkin Square, right behind the uttra-mnrtern Rossia movie ihcatrc in Moscow, while the "branched of Novosti. according to the official Charter, are located in the capitals and major cities of 130 countries of the world. Yet Novosti foreign bureaus are in most cases not called "Novosti" at all — for ihey are attached to or constitute the entirety of the Information Departments of the USSR embassies all over the

world.

Time-wise it is similarly tricky: the APN exists simultaneously in several ems. One ean lind within Novosti elements of the pre-histo- rica) Communkm. war-Commit nism of post-revolutionary era, middle-ages with its inquisitions and witch-hunts, fascist reich with its own Goebfilses, something from democracy of today's West, and even certain elements of OrwelliaiHvpe future - the nwspeetk and remodHing. of history.

■ ■ .::.■ ■■ :.■ : . ■.:•■■ ..:■ :.vv:

<

r.

■-.

•:

The very name of Novosti Press Agency is a beautiful example of the newspeak and reminds one either of Orwell's "Ministry of Truth*1 or ^Evtushenko's "Ministry of Tenderness. "The fact is, that there is no news as they are erroneously and non marxistlike understood in the West — as reports about the current events. This son of news could easily contradict the prophesies of the founders of Marxism- Leninisms and thus give o wrong and totally unscientific picture of reality.

Neither is there any "press''1 in Novosti Press Agency, at least in the meaning of the word accepted in the West and related to journalistic profession. Dut it docs not mean that the APN has no press. "Press is the most potent weapon of our Party *\ said the Friend and Teacher of all the journalists Joseph Vissarionovitch Stalin — and he was right. In the APN the word press is understood mainly as a technical term — printing press, or as an abstract term in a sentence: "The Soviet Press is the most truthful press in the world" a slogan that decorates walls of many editorial offices in the USSR.

The only word most relevant to the activities of the APN is "agency". To understand better the nature of the occupation of some 500 journalists, 250X1 editors and copy boys, 1000 typists and sec rcta- i ies and close t o 3000 technical service staff and auxiliary workers* let us have a closer took at the semantics of this term. According to the Etymological Dictionary of Russian Language by C.P. Tsiganenko, page 16;

"Agency . , . agent — a trusted body, or a person. The

woid bonowed from Germans at the beginning of the

seventeenth Century A.D. "Acting" — participal form

from the woad "ageie" — Lu move, to uigcto move. Thus

in European languages, 'agent* — any force in nature oi

society, which causes movement. See also 'Agitation* .

Let us see the meaning of magitaiion.+Tlre wind, as wesliallseet has

a lot to link the APN with I lie depaitintul of Agitation and Piupa-

gattda of the Cents al Committee of the Communist Party of the

Soviet Union — Agitprop. The relation between the two, the word

and the departments is not only semantic, but administrative as well.

So;

"An activity with a purpose of political tip bunging of the masses. From Latin/Agilalio' — movement, activity. An abstract noun fruin the verb lageic' — to eAcile, incite, PROVOKE . . ." Now we have got to a very interesting word — ''provoke*'. Let us sec now what is it exactly the ftPN "'provokes "the masses of people to do. A concise Political Dictionary edited by A.R. Dobrnnravova on page 5 says;

'. .'■■ :i .:.: , :;

"I

.-.■.■•■.■,■.•.■■■■:■■.■:.■ .■:.■■■:■-.••■»■:■■■■■■■■■■■.. • .■-.■■■!

Ms,Angela Davis — a pawn in the APN-KGB DESTABILIZA- TION game. She was Novostft "suest of honor" white in ih« LISSR. The leaflet above was printed in the USA by a Novosli front.

''Agitation, verbal and printed, is a political activity directed to influence consciousness and mood of the masses with the purpose of attracting or involving them in active participation in solving ol important socio-poh- tical and economical tasks. I he means of agitation: dis- cussions, meetings, newspapers, radio, television, cine- ma, posters, cartoons etc. Agitation is a sharp and potent weapon of political struggle between classes and parties. See also 'propaganda'. Al! right! Let us see what Mrs, Dobronravova and Soviet official- dom considers propaganda. In the same dictionary, on page 210: "Propaganda — is the process of explanation, dissemina- tion and establishing of political ideas, theories and teachings. Propaganda has always a vttrss character, it is always partisan, Communist Party's propaganda is ver- bal or printed explanation and dissemination of ideas of Marxism-Leninism and of the current policy of the Communist Party. It is an inseparable part of the current policy of the Communist Party. It is an inseparable part of the political education of the masses. Revolutionary propaganda was a reliable weapon of the Communist Party in the period of preparation and implementation of the armed uprisal in 1917 as welt as on all other conse- quent stages of the Socialist construction. Propaganda of Marxism-Leninism acquires special importance in the circumstances of sharpening ideological struggle and class struggle in the international arena. The Communist Party of the Soviet Union is constantly perfecting the methods o{ propaganda. As we see, everything is rather logical, consistent and — most important — perfectly honest: translated from the Soviet newspeak into passable English t the two definitions above mean the following: a) within the USSR or any territory under Soviet control, APN "influences" masses of populace to accept the conditions estabished by the Party unquestionably and work without strikes or protests. Ideologically NovostJ works towards STABILITY, b) "In the inter- national arena" i.e. in foreign countries which are not yet included in the sphere of Soviet imperialism, Novosti Press Agency functions as a factor of DESTAB1 LIS ATION and destruction of accepted moral values through encouraging CLASS AND IDEOLOGICAL STRUGGLE.

It could not be any simpler! Both of these functions of Novosti Press Agency are evident if one reads the official APN Charter, translating the paragraphs of the Charter from the "newspeak" into norma! human language. Here is an example of such a translation:

sfe-ai

■^■■■1

10

Official text of the Charter

I he Novostt Press Agency (APN> is an information agen- cy of the Soviet public organi- sations, operating under Arti- cles lib and 1 26 of the Consti- tution of the USSR.

No Soviet Slate organ bears responsibility for the business

activities and financial obliga- tions or any other actions of the Agency, Nor doet the agency bear responsibility for any claims against the Soviet State or am other Soviet organisa- tion.

The Agency pursues the aim of facilitating in every possible way the promotion and conso- lidation of international under- standing, confidence and friendship,

. . . widely circulating abroad true information about the Soviet Union and acquainting

the Soviet public with the life of other peoples.

Actual meaning

The Novosti Press Agency (APN) is an extension or Agit- prop Department of the Cen- tral Committee, established for propaganda, subversion and intelligence gathering.

Posing as "independent", the APN is in fact a dirert and subordinate extension of the Party-State bureaucracy, which removes from itself any responsibility for knowingly illegal or imoral actions of the APN.

The Agency facilitates, in the way of propaganda, the im- plementation of the USSR leadership's internal and foreign policy, using indoctri- nation and coercion on one hand, and inciting hatred and class struggle and terrorism on the other.

In the USSR; slandering and downgrading everything foreign if not under Soviet domination.

Abroad; presenting selected and censored half-truths glori- fying the Soviet way of life, dis- information.

' :

.' : ...

" : ■ : ': : :

11

. . . exchanges information material ... on the basis of reciprocity. .

Its aim is not to make profit , . . sponsoring public organisa- tions participate in financing the Agency.

Enters into contact and con- cludes agreements with both state-owned and cooperatively- and privately owned (foreign) media ... to supply them with Agpnry rnfltp-rial for an AP- PROPRIATE FEE.

Showering foreign cou utiles with Marxist propaganda, while banning every foieig.ii newspaper, periodical or book within the USSR.

Unlimited budgeting of the Agency by the State-Party dic- tatorship, absolutely unac- countable to any public organi- zation or private individual whatsoever. The annual budget is around 2.4 billion dollars,

Forcing agency's material upon foreign media free of charge, more often PAYING tn the media for publications nf the APN stuff, or using "every pos- sible way" — i e hnhery, blackmail corruption, drun- kenness

There is no point in going into technical details of the Novosti Charter What is important here, and what will be demonstrated in further chapters of the book, is: despite the masquerade as a "public and non-government", the APN can not be anything else but an organ of MONOPOLY PROPAGANDA, an extension of subver- sion apparatus of the Party. The functions and aims of the APN can not he anything else but those of forming public opinion by the methods, which even in the "fascist" nghtist dictatorships are under- stood as VIOLATING HUMAN MIND. It cannot be otherwise in the society where "The Party is our consciousness" and where 'The Party and Ihe People are the one."

The danger of monopoly propaganda could hardly be overestima- ted A Swiss author Peter Sager in his research on Novosti s activity in India arrives at the following definition of monopoly propaganda: "Propaganda is the attempt to con vine* a greater or le«er group of people of the justice of one's own opinion (whether ideology, philosophy of lire or religious beliefs) through a consciously onesided description nf data or events. It is not necessarily bound to any particular noli-

12

tical regime. In so far as it works towards spreading opinion* by ran virion and not by force* it is used in democratic countries as well as by dictatorships.

As long as propaganda represents one opinion out of many and accepts or mrhi encourages the existence of its rivals, its onesidedneis k entirely legitimate. Indeed, pro- paganda of this kind provides the basis for the free forma- tion of opinion. It promotes discussion and is conse- quently a characteristic of democracy.

But when propaganda monopolies the opini on- making fuction and all counter- propaganda is exclu- ded, so that in the effect the expression of one opinion provides the only source of information — then it is imposing itself by force- Monopoly propaganda is an inescapable characteristic of dictatorship. During iu existence the Novosti Press Agency clearly demonstra- ted itself as an efficient organ of monopoly propaganda. Together with the KGB, APN successfully "excludes" (destroys) not only "all counter-propaganda", not only information, but the very sources of that information in several cases, including foreign sources, such as Radio stations broadcasting in Russian language, certain newspa- pers, public organisations and individuals.

Many open societies lived through many painful processes of re- evaluation of traditional social values, in many parts of the world good will, common sense bad retreated and yielded to the aggressive ad\*ncc of the system based on hatred, terror, "class struggle" etc. Western media discovered numerous "conspiracies" in every possible level of authority in the free world from president to local police. But the main source of discontent totalitarian agression, and its ideological front— Novosti Press Agency, escaped the critical atten- tion of public opinion. The APN and its Kremlin owners remain respectable and accepted. The APN publications, booklets, posters, caitoons, newspapers, meetings, etc, — have unrestricted freedom in iitiy open socictywPROVOKINODESTABlLISATlON"of the very open society. With the dawning of "detente" policy, Novosti has gicatly increased its activity both at home and abroad.

Why this is happening*? Let historians and psychologists answer this question. The author of this book, a former Novosti employee, takes upon himself to explain HOW it is done and how does it feel to be a part of subversive system, while inwardly disagreeing both with the dirty methods and "final aims" of Novosti Press Agency.

13

Novosti headquarters, Moscow, Pushkin square

....... ^

<Jk

'5ovlet Press — the most truthful iu the world"

1*

INOVOSTI FROM ROOF TO BASEMENT, THINGS AND PEOPLE IN BETWEEN

My iirsl encounter with the Novosii building was in Apiil of 1959. 1 was in my second yea rat the Institute of Oriental Languages, Mos- cow State University. A friend. Herman Belousov. had invited me to join him tor a recording session in the studio or what was then die Sovinl'orm Bureau. I was to play the guitar, for a propaganda program that would be broadcast to Indonesia.

Herman had been a student at the same institute, whom 1 met when a participant in one ol the amateur artistic activities which are all but compulsory in such places. He was a talented singer with a genius for languages; tall, and of dark complexion, he had large brown eyes. With these qualifications he was bound to be popular; his only problem was drink, in which he sometimes immersed himself

for several days.

I had known Herman only bnelly when I discovered that his drinking was the symptom ol a dilterent problem. He had loved and lost. So Indonesian did he appear, that he had been the natural choice to "infiltrate" an Indonesian delegation which was attending an international movie festival in Moscow, as its interpreter. There he metTutti.an Indonesian movie star, by his account charming and delicate; simple, honest and as yet unspoiled. Their love had been deep and mutual, said he. after hall bottle ol vodka . . . The KGB summoned him, to say, categorically, that (hey did not approve of intermarriage between Soviets and Indonesians, this in spite of I he fact that a Si no-Soviet "split" had recently occurred, and Indonesia was almost the only "brotherly country "Soviet commentators could identify in the Orient. Perhaps actual marriage to an Indonesian would carry the stigma of incest.

My reaction was confused. 1 had thought bet ore that the beautiful talk about friendship and cooperation between the proletarians of all countries might in fact be nothing but; but I was a member ol the Young Communist League, son of a staff colonel, raised in loyalty, i had seen Soviet movies in which innocent Soviet citizens were sub- verted by beautiful movie stars who turned oul to be Li A: who took military secrets and then hoarsely laughed in their victims' faces, blowing smoke from Camel cigarettes. I had been taught that love iind sex in the West are merchandise. 1 utti was from the Orient . . . Even so 1 felt uneasy.

Vertical quarts* -wave anteiina capable oi iniercepung government

ijmou-sinc cO«T"irt"i\jnic6ti<>n3

Hiqh-fiequency antenna irainerjon Pen i agon and State- De pan mem

■ liqh-ffeqgencY antenna

rairtfid on CIA ;ommunicauor'i fao lilies

The KGB's fcarsrat work- I.htpttingfar secrets — and snme(imt% just plain gotfiip

Most of the el«etronic snooping is don* by the Novosti-KCB personnel

Sdv e«ar atop Soviet consulate in San Francisco On a clear da\ vou can see a jet take off.

■'.■''.

I learned to forgive drunkenness and rudeness in Herman, for underneath I found softness and understanding. We were still sobering up after a rude evening when we made our broadcast for Sovinform, and 1 was hoping that thousands of miles away, at least on [his occasion, Tutti would be listening to Radio Moscow.

********

The Novosti building Jn Pushkin Square, isa rectangle enclosing a courtyard. The only gate to that yard adjoins a side street, which separates Novosti and the editorial oilices ol the "New Times 'The gate is well secured; behind it, sheet metal detlects idle viewing.

In the long corridors, there are those who speculate about the building's history. Prior to the Bolshevik Revolution it was, accord- ing to one school, a prison for very special guests; according to another, an elite school for Okhrana's spies. Afterwards, it was appropriated by the Cheka, the Bolshevik Secret Police, and later, a school for foreign revolutionaries, under the Comintern. During the Great Patriotic War (the Soviet description of World War II), Sovin- form moved in. Novosti Press Agency was founded in 196 I, a whim of Krushchev on the advice of his son-in-law; Sovinform disap- peared, or to be more precise, it melted in.

Accurate or not, the story conforms to an impression that the building was always the most suitable place for the shady affairs of our Empire, which are not for the masses' eyes. The building is a tan- gible monument to State Secrecy. Let's divulge some of it.

The roof is a forest of antennae, receiving all possible telex and wire services; they are not paid for. This is not as unfair as it may appear, for news from Reuter, AP, UP1 and AFP (unless it is bad news for the West) never appears in the Soviet press, only on the desks of nomenklatura of the media. Nor should Novosti bethought the only perpetrator of this little theft; most Soviet embassies are provided with similar equipment, (A radio technician could easily figure out what they are tuned to by studying the configurations of the antennae).

On the top floor, on the north side of the Novosti rectangle, are the teleprinters. They occupy their own large department, separated from the translators and typists next door by a huge plexiglass wail, with sliding doors and a remotely controlled lock (manufactured, incidentally, in the United States). A milkbox opening exists, through which manuscripts and messages are passed for transmis- sion abroad. Most Novosti employees are denied access; means of communication withtheoutsideworlddonot belong to the people of Novosti.

■•■.■-■

■■!:;■■;:

17

I managed to enter once, for I was on good terms with one 1 yova Dzcrdidifnskyi (no relation to the great chatelaine of Lubyanka. as far a» I know). I had met him in New Delhi. Already :i trusted person there, he was carving his way up the Comsomol totem pole. Under his jurisdiction were several huge gray instruments, resembling the field radios Soviet private;; affectionately call "whales"- they were in consoles, stacked and separated by television screens, across which patterns of green dots and dashes moved, comprehensible only to him- These were in the maintenance room adjoining, the main hall of teleprinters. There I saw about 200 of the cantankerous machines, mourned upon tables in long rows. Most appeared to transmit as well as leceive messages. The operators would feed them with rolled strips of key-punched paper. Today, thanks to generous computer sales from the U.S. and Japan, the equipment must be greatly improved.

An iron doui would need to be unlocked, if one were to esit the hall of teleprinters and enter the upper story's cast side. It starts with a spooky fire-exit suiiicase, where Novosti loafers smoke and gossip. Beyond it lies the CH.AVL.IT loom, the censors, perhaps the same two Old men and the fat lady I last saw in 1969, They pored over a copy with red pencils, frequently consulting large manuals, the litera- ry productions of the KGB. In these would be characterized, by sub- ject, the sort of information which \i> "not in accord with state securi- ty." Real wages, for instance.

Beyond the censors' room is a movie projectionist's cubicle, smel- ling of garlic and MosKovskaya vodka. Dyadya-Vaaya is the boss and the mam consumer of Moskovskaya, Thiough the project ion appcrtures uncle Vasya can sec what goes on in the eonference-and- movie hall. Most of it is of no interest to uncle Vasya. but it fascina- ted me greatly. Here press conferences were held for Western coi ics- pondents. I saw cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin here once, unwilling to say anything which was not written on cue cards before him. In large letters. Mikhail Sholokhov showed up here after his return from Oslo with a Nobel prize for stolen novels. He. too, was unable to either speak or read, for he was frightfully drunk. I wonder what foreign television correspondents made out of 1 hat "interview. "The Soviet ambassador to India, comrade Benedietov. talked to the cream of Novosti here, trying to explain the absence of logic in Stalin's daugther's delectton from India, which he failed to prevent, poor fellow. Party meetings are sometimes held here, too. They would be of no interest to the Western reader unable to appreciate George Orwell, or better, brother Strugatzki's Fable of the Trilateral Commission (Troyka — escaped the Soviet censors, probably by posing as science fiction).

Western movies (made in the West) are also shown, occasionally,

19

|i :.:.-":'d

18

and to a select audience of Novosti employees, ihrii families and some friends employed by solulnye Suite bureaucracies, such as TASS, Radio Moscow. Pravda, etc. Here I saw Nevii Shuu^ Or, d* Beach, and left it confused, like my colleagues, unable to undci stand the omission from it of anti-Soviet rhetoric. A Soviet movie about a nuclear war would be full of anti-Western accusations. H would show hornble war scenes too. and this did not. (ABC's -Day After lia* changed that omission recently . . .}. Human emotions were uoi- traved, which a Soviet version would distort. More contusion was created bv "The Nuremberg Trials": only an idiot would fail to see the resemblance between the Na/.i defendants (who were at least receiving a fair trial) and those who occupy corresponding positions of power in the Soviet Union,

(1 have often pulled over the motive for showing these movies, knowing from experience that our system always has an ulterior motive. Was it intellectual torture'.' Was it a testing ground, to find out if those who will visit the West can return with their hypocrisy intact?)

From ihc conference hall, through a reception ansa, one enters the south side. It Imaa long corridor, and on its door* wr find the names Of the wo i Id V political and geographical regions The world is sliced. like a melon, into segments, and the respective Novosti departments gnaw at then shares, working lor the ultimate victory of Com- munism; to completely devour all of mankind. 1 worked in the department fur South-Fast Asia, which is typical of all the depart- ments It lends to the ideological needs, as defined by the Pohtbu- reau, or India, Burma, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam. Malay- sia Indonesia, the Philippines. Pakistan and Ceylon

Down the corridor wc pass Africa, Latin America, and several Other developing areas. My big boss, the editor or South Asia, would be found at the end of the corridor: Valery Pu*hkov. a modest and diligent eonmide upon whose face was written indelibly the reticent expression of a boy who had been caught masturbating,

Along the western corridor of the upper floor there are several Other rooms for several other bosses of various parts or the earth, each of them with his own facial peculiarity.

Finally, wc get to the northwest corner, occupied by the editorial board of "Soviet LdiuT magazine, printed and distributed in India us an expression of bi olhcrly concern for the ideological upbringing of our Indian friends, A disproportionate amount of the work (every- thing but the imitation into local languages and printing) wasdone in Moscow. I worked on the periodical from December i%S lo March 1967, 1 was chosen for my task, the writing of economic

stories, for my qualifications; \ had been a translator lot the Soviet economic aid group which constructed refineries ai Koyali and Barauni. Soviet monuments m India. I can speak Hindi and Urdu. Besides, while on my first assignment to India. I was a ""voluntary1'' distributor of "Soviet Land" magazine among the Indian workers at the construction projects.

As we walk to the north side of the rectangle, we see a typists' hall on one side, a translation department on the other. The typists fall into three categories; unmarried, divorced and separated They are ruled by an austere Madame.

The translators are of various ages, sexes and nationalities. Many are the offspring of foreign communists who came to the Soviet Union in search of the Brightest Future for All Mankind, but found a status of nye-vyuextJnoi (non-ex liable) for themselves, their children. and their children'!; children: they have lost the right to return lo whence they came, I hey saw the unreported side of Soviet life.

Some were recent graduates of foreign language schools. Atten- dance had become possible under Krushchev, prior to whom the learning of a loreign language was considered the first step towards high treason. They make routine translations, into broken English, of the Central Committee members' speeches, articles in Pravda.and statements by cosmonauts and ballerinas.

We return to the teleprinters, or rather to their plexiglass shield. and find a staircase to descend to the third floor.

Let's tiptoe lo the highest office ol Novosti. past the reception area where a tigress of a secretary is purring something into a high fre- quency telephone, Boris Burkov. the director worked in an empo- rium of souvenirs from many countries, selected with all the taste of the jokes he made to visitors, which I was sometimes compelled to translate (Comrade Burkov blamed the translator if his guests did not laugh, so 1 had to compensate for the Jack of humor with devia- tions from the original.) Six southern and six eastern windows light- ed his menage, which included a meeting table, a small desk with numerous telephones, some matching chairs, further chairs around the wall and by the windows, and shelves for his unopened books. The telephones were ordinary, high frequency, and venushka, (scrambler) to conlacl the elite of nomenklatura and the Kremlin. A little door, as if to a closet, led in fact to another room with shower. bath and couch; here he would retire after an excess of toasts to international friendship and cooperation. Lunch, with vodka, would be brought to him here by a special waitress from the special Novosti kitchen in the basement. It was hard to respect Comrade Burkov, for he reminded me of Gorki's play "on the Bottom'*; it was as if he had

ISS&KJSlEXil.-iL^ : \ ;.'..' :'::," r- :':'.'■ ■:':' :.i '-:. ■ ' ..:::'■"' ':. ■ ■'.:.■■.■■.:. -■■■.■..■ ■.■.■■:■::■■■.>.•■■. .■,.■■.•■-■:-■.

20

!■

A delegation of "progressive" foreigners visiting Novosti, Under numbers: t. Comrade Zaichikov, 2.Vateri Pushkov, 3.Tomas Schuman, 4.Comrade Yakunin (Central Committee of Communist Party, USSR)

Congregation of "useful idiots" boozing with Novostl top brass. Sitting at head of the table: Boris Burkov, APIN Chairman, t am standing next to the Indian poet.

21

floated up to the surface, and there was something unclean about him. His gestures were artificially friendly, even when drunk- Com- rade Burkov loved to play democracy and egaiite. I didn't trust htm, but many foreign delegates did. I understand that he sank again several years ago.

Comrade Zaichikov. the deputy director, was among my favorites in the Novosti brass. His room was right across from Burkov's. 1 often visited him with crowds of foreign "progressive" scavengers, who would shamelessly ask Comrade Zaichikov for everything from an Acroflot ticket to Paris to treatment at the Kremlin clinic to cure their VI) and hernias acquired in the unequal struggle against Western imperialism. Comrade Zaichikov would patiently listen to them, and his face and hands would cover with perspiration. He would wipe them before shaking hands with the visitors, but the sound of a foreign language would make him sweat all the more profusely. Comrade Zaichikov was a shy person. Vodka was another cause of his condition. I suspected that Zaichikov had. somewhere inside him. some sort of conscience. You see, he was a war veteran, missing part of one leg. As the son of a professional soldier, I respect- ed those who had suffered in the war. I knew better than many that in rrality many Soviet military personnel are "doves. "The "hawks "are the fat apparatchiks, who hide in airconditioned bunkers and make long speeches at world peace conferences. Tall, skinny, and ascetic, ejtcepf for an incongruous pair o[ French eyeglasses. Comrade Zaichikov was. in my eyes, a dove attacked by swarms of the hawks. Sometimes I wished I had a shotgun.

Along the corridor of the east side, glass walls reveal the offices of the Party, trade union, and young Communist bosses. In one frequently sat an Odessa Jew called Pishchik, a member of the direc- torial hoard who had found his way along the Party line of least resistance, whose black eyes radiated tiredness and a certainty that someday things will improve. I came to him fora signature whenever my bos« disappeared and I had something lo be transmitted abroad. He would ask me to tell him what is was about, and sign without reading, hardly noticing the absence of a censorship stamp. Then he would "retire back into the shadows, by an imported air conditioner, and continue his struggle to remain awake.

Past a staircase {the same spooky one) is the karioieka. or Hie room. Around its walls are shelves of files; in the middle, twoTher- mofax machi nes {the Socialist Xerox) produce pink-brown copies of Novosti articles, to be registered with rubber stamp and code num- bers, indexed, summarized and entered in lar^e books by date, sub- ject and author, with further copies to be distributed to other propa- ganda organs, resum marked, recatalogued.and Tiled. The original is reprocessed for separate filing. Nothing is lost, nothing is findable. Of that two plump, slow girls lake care.

"Recomend&tion letter" — a "must" in everyone's file with the Personnel Department*

lipiittpicim

rpyAomsnsuu ct]nairKwt ropwaw hjhhjkuc"* d I954j j\*,;j 10 npjiatiisy !jn BicUt easM o owrase opnrqaw k&h ju h -*«j_ ■ dim B-.irpaxnoM rpaootou QA JUtou* Bjuiutwcun j«.i,ui; -■-*. h o<J;.i3GteOT;Lo:t wan fuowtfta* K 195/ rosy puttra * ■«.>* -• cwtwpe dspO B2WJ fliWTHTJia* & J35B-59 j^flOHW i^W v^.t>:

HH I B milin itiiyifiit'i .h'i^ii (V'fo""*^r

IMw WJf-AfUM X »:.**, ItaOilUll U JT3K* CnC.f.J.wii

C8h?ettja SBW **■> (OP6*

Novosti* Identify Card, proof of the

absence of any Menihy - 1Mb if and honest) had been hnruM nvn In the special department* to exchange for this red-eovered curd which opens mure doors m the licaicr ihan the 'American Kxprvrt' cTMlit card.

'■ .

■

■

f

22

•■ : ••

23

Several more editorial toon is grace the trjiiIi side uf ilie iliiiJ floor. I hese serve the Einglish speaking count lies, ihe United King- dom and Ireland, the United Suites and Canada, Australia and New Zealand.

The west side lias doors which read "Outsiders Keep Out "" Behind these doors arc two departments, the "first department" and the "special. "They constitute the heart of every Soviet media agency, or. more precisely, the bladder.

In the "first ."all messages between Novosti and the Central Com- mittee arc kept. A special courier win arrive at the main entrance ina black Volga car. He is generally a skinny and pimpled young man, with the rank ot junior lieutenant of the special CC Guards. The lieutenant will be chained to a briefcase. Me will not have the key. but lie will have a handgun to defend the secrecy of correspondence between the State and the "independent, public news agency. He will not say a word in the elevator.

In the "special department", on the contrary, the secrecy or corres- pondence is violated, and by the same stale. I he correspondence, though, is that ol the Novosti stall. A nice lazy girl was working there, the last time I pecked through the door. Her job was to open the mail, whether personal or professional, and make copies of interesting letters.

Next door, down the corridor, is the personnel department, guarded by a retired KGB. A fireproof safe section contains the per- sonnel files. In these the diplomas ot stall members are stored, toge- ther with every letter of recommendation, memorandum, reprimand or other clue to our professional existence. The prize document is a 52-part questionnaire (the anketa), on which you have answered every conceivable question about yoursell. hven your instdes are known to the personnel department: your hie includes x-rays. But the most important document in each person's hie is bis object ivka, a two- or three-page compilation of the most subjective opinions — those of KGB informers, Every department will have at least one ol these creatures,

A section of the personnel department is called vo)*enmstoil[ mili- tary desk) and guarded by a babushka, with military induction tickets for all members of the staff who are also reservists. I, for instance, was an officer of the reserve, and when I was assigned to India, babushka made a telephone call. I was told to report for retraining, to a camp near Moscow. It took me a week of negotia- tions and commuting between my Novosti boss, voenkomat and the babushka, to prevent my ^qualification." Even when I had a ticket to New Delhi, the omnipotent Defense Ministry, through its babushka, tried to send me to Ethiopia as a translator for the Soviet military ^advisors." What saved me from that w&s&spravka, certify-

I

::;:■■::■ I

24

ing that my t raining was in Indian languages, wh ich are not spoken in Ethiopia. Bui who cares . now?

French. German and Scandinavian services are provided on the south side of the third floor. There is also a section of Communica- tions and a room for telephone operators, whose job it was to make high-frequency connections, sometimes abroad, usually to Party officials. If Novosti guides are showinga foreigner around the Soviet

Union, the communications would be busy getting messages through to i he local Party offices, warning them to clean up in preparation lor ihe foreign delegation. There must be plenty of vodka, and good rood-, ihe roads must be swept and fences painted; drunkards removed from gutters; collective farms made to look efficienl. And put a grand piano in the park and someone to play it, preferably a

worker.

The s^nnd floor is not very interesting. I is north side ho uses tech- nical and administrative services. If one is taking a foreigner to lunch one comes here, to arrange coupons for taxis, credit in a good restau- rant, and a memn lor the accounting department, which will provide some cash to throw around. Tickets for planes and trains are also reserved here.

Walking briskly down the east side's corridor we pass the photo- graphy depanmrni This is really another filing system, with an inexhaustible siork of pictures to illustrate the achievements of the Socialist Motherland-

Countless photographs with negatives arc filed here, for every conceivable occasion, but essentially bearing the same message. Readers who have wondered how it is that . as socialism triumphs in a country, it* people be^in lo smile with an empty but eternal opti- mism/might address their inquiries 10 this section. Whether in Havana, Belgrade. Peking or Harare, one thing you can say for socialism, everybody loves it in the same way- This phenomenon should be a matter of research for psychologists.

Countries already i-njnying socialism are served by ihe editorial departments of the south and west sides. The material produced here may not be as subtle as that produced for the third world, but there is nevertheless a sobering menage: you live beautifully and securely, and if you behave, we may noi have to "liberate" you again with our

tanks.

A descent 10 the ground flor>r will be accompanied by the smell of pirozhki and yesterday \ cabbage. soup, for a cafeteria and dining hall are on either side of the building^ lobby. Let's walk out, and see if we can get back in.

Large glass; doors greet the visitor at the main entrance; except for two grey-uniformed sentries, looking quaintly like officers in Hitler's army, the building looks more approachable here than anywhere.

25

The sentries ask for your pass, they win send stall borne who are without one. A visitor must explain his business carefully, for the sentry will call the person he wishes to see, and only if the two stories agree will it be possible for the visitor to enter. The sentries are retired KGB. probably demoted Tor missing a quota — ol arrests, perhaps. On their faces is written a boring expression — "lifteen years ago J would have shot you."

Novosti is by no means the most dillicult building in Moscow to sneak into; try visiting the Central Committee in Nogina Square. For intermediates 1 suggest the telegraph agency TASS. or the Moscow Radio building. I here the guards are internal police, and visitors check masil to loreign country. Your pass is your visa; half an hour or more can be spent (usually standing) waiting for the gentlemen behind a brick wall (with one brick missing) to process it, make out an extra slip of paper, and call your name.

Back to Novosti. To either side of the lobby, the corridors display Soviet personalities and achievements. Smiling milkmaids, thought- ful nuclear physicists and dumb conceited Party officials share space on the walls with charts of the increase of something* probably the number of people who have been "agitated and provoked^by Novos- ti propaganda.

Taking the left corridor, we come to the cafeteria, where, if we have some money left before the next poiuchkti, we may have some beer. Drinking to excess in the cafeteria is not advisable for Novosti staff: it gives the informers loo easy a job. On the other hand, drinking to excess is common in Novosti, out of bottles con- cealed in filing cabinets, pockets and bottom drawers. A foreign colleague of mine once remarked how much water seems to be drunk by Novosti staff in the mornings . . .

Auntie Vera is not only the cafeteria's patron saint, but its manager. Her jovial, and substantial, presence accounts for no small part ol ihe morale in this tomb of journalism. It is often stiggested that she steals food; which is. in Russia, some sort of backhanded compliment, lor everyone who works in cafeterias steals food. Stealing is an essential part of a planned eco- nomy.

Returning our empty bottles, and getting back for each the 12 kopcek deposit, we may round ihe corridor to the west side of the ground floor and to the kassti cash-box. ft is from this tiny room, with a tinier reception area, that foreign "progressives*' are paid their thirty silver pieces for contributing to the destruction of their native "decadent capitalist'1 motherlands, and for printing the truth about the Motherland of Socialism" — the Soviet Union. Most take it meekly; some have the nerve to complain that the number of pieces is unequal to their number of pages of

27

■■ .

;

,...g. . '':'.;;.v;^:

26

truth A few take money on the promise to write in their native countries the glories, they have seen, and few of these fail to deli- ver But the really important contributors from abroad have their money taken 'to them, by persons of approximately equiva- lent rank. Future prime ministers and chiefs of civil serves dis- dain to be seen by lesser men qucwering outside of Novosti cash

SUM 1 have seen distinguished persons here, for instance Ravi Shankar Raval, a painter from Indie: the poet Ah Sardar lain: another poet, and admirer of Lcnm, Surmtranandan Punt Biswas, editor of Ami if a Bazaar Pamca; A,S, Raman. editor of itamhav fllustratfrU, Narayanan, editor of the daily Patriot M\ colleagues from English-speaking countries told me that Mr. Mm Philby himself often sneaked here "incognito" to collect his lee I or consult! tig services rendered toNovoati through the Disinformation Department of KGB. Many unsuccessful jour- nalists and writers from the West and Ea«. North and South, end up in the queue, flattered, oi too cynical to care that their books art; printed in millions of copies in the USSR, where circu- lation is never an indicator of popularity. (It is established "from above" bv Agitprop. I The log buoka of this Uulo room could say a bi aboul a rather large number of otherwise resectable

PL A dispatch ollice Tor truck and eai drivers is further along the west corridor, bv the arch which leads into the courtyard. Behind it there are several large rooms occupied by the printing facilities for Novosti dai)v bulletins, for both domestic and foreign con- sumption. The rest of the floor is too boi iug to investigate. So, ihece arc the four floors of the Novosti budding, hut that is not all. There is a rather interesting basement. Follow mc, please , . .

If wo take an elevator, which is usually done only by "special- waitresses and some bosses, we can gel right into a "special, closed" restaurant provided for Novosti numvnkhxuici and deser- ving foreign guests (f hose who do not work - for APN. will not eat, - a socialist quotation from the Bible).

The restaurant looks tike a replica uf a small decadent steak house somewhere in New York: high-back chairs and benches divide the tabic area into cozy booths soft lights, soft but progressive Socialist-realistic music emanates from concealed speakers: unobtrusive waitresses and Hi si class food from the Central Committee reserves.

1 used to take quite a number of foreign guests here, to toast their truthiul stones about our classless society. Not » single lib leftist whore, while munching on the *'pcop1cV caviar. a»Ued the Novosti hosts afxnit the sharp discrepancy between food here

■ i

December 1 967. Picture by John Philby

"■**£■

Cambridge, 1933: Maclean (see arrow) in the second rank of the Peace

March

28

29 and in the "peoples" restaurants {which any one of them could visit, if they wanted). Have the heroic Soviet people not deserved decent food after single-handedly defeating Nazis, conquering Space and liberating Africa? I never stopped pu/v.ling over the unique ability of my progressive observers not to observe things ^untypical" for my wonderful motherland.

h'rom the restaurant, located in the south wing of the buse- ment, we may turn to the west by a corridor und enter n roomy medical ivection. where employees of APN have their inaides rcgii-i- icrcd on x-rays and are treated for the traumas they acquire in their heavy struggle against the ideological diversions of the

W<:.s!

The western tunnel abruptly ends before huge airtight doors, leading, I was told, into a fallout shelter provided for, let's say, .some Soviet journalists in case of nuclear strike. At first the existence of these shelters seemed to 111c a -sign of paranoia in ous leaders, but I learned from a friend of mine, an employee of the Fuicigu Affam Minisliy, that il is muie of u calculated [Jitpa- raliuii fus wai.

One day, while enLering a Moscow metro station, we saw a team of workers laboring over huge airtight gates, half a meter thick, made of steel and concrete, which in an activated, vertical position could completely cut off the metro station from the entrance tube. As I remember, it was just before the Cuban missile crisis. I expressed my suspicion to my friend that our democratic junta was probably providing us with shelters in case President Kennedy ordered a strike against Moscow in exchange for Miami.

Not us, said the future diplomat, even the entire Moscow metro system cannot possibly shelter all eight million Moscovites. The gates are not to protect people from radiation, but to protect nomenklatura from a panic stricken Hood of people.

Soviet media of that period was hysterical with laughter about stupid Americans paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to build their individual family bomb shelters. Some Soviet magazines, like the illustrated Ogonyok and Krokadil, printed photographs of the shelters with sarcastic captions. explaining that some Americans stock these shelters with canned loods, electric batteries and loaded idles — ■ to protect themselves not Irom the enemy, but from their neighbors, less lorlunate prole- tarians, lelt shelterless above. My Inend explained to me that tn every Soviet soiicinyi office, in one of its endless departments, there sits a modest bureaucrat, pushing insignificant but already secret papers. His real function is that of an "early warning radar system." In case of a nuclear war, he (or she) will receive

,- :.:

■ : ::

i:v

■■■:■■■■:

.■ . .

■..■■'

;,

■;■: :■■;■§ :::r

JO

an innocent telephone call, and someone will mention a code- word phrase, maybe something like "the swallows are coming hack 10 Yalta" or "Auntie Shoora sends her best regards to Petya." That will trigger the evacuation operation. The clerk will" open his fate, produce a sealed envelope, tear it open, and call everyone who is listed, on his switchboard. The selected few will walk into an elevator, as if Ihey had been called to another .wveshfhaniye. and peacefully go down to the shelter, leaving the n^t ni the office blissfully unaware of the approaching missile, to roust in the nuclear lire. Everything would be orderly and purely scientific. No lasi-mirtute class struggle at the airtight doors, no need lor Uwirled rifles and canned foods . . -

This much for the building. Let's get the hell out of the gloomy basement and walk into the sunlit prison-yard of Novosti. In dimmer time the yard is used by auntie Vera for her buffet. Under the round colorful nmhTcllas there are neat plastic tables and chairv Nmosti folk flush sandwiches down with Zhiguli bctr. ;\a -tforovic'

Another boozing session with 'progressive" guests uf Novosti

31

NOVOSTI "KITCHEN", OR SHOULD WE SAY "OUTHOUSE"?

Victorious Socialism, as claimed by the Soviet textbooks of "Poli- tical-economy", had awakened tremendous, unprecedented produc- tive forces in the society, and during a historically-short period of time had demonstrated (to members of the Politbureau) the obvious advantages of the centralized planned economy over the so-called "free market", plagued with inflation, stagnation, oppression, exploitation, and general overall crisis. It was explained to me in childhood, that in the West the capitalists a re so badly organised and so greedy, that they prefer to burn wheat and pour milk into rivers* rather than give it to the poor masses. U is called "overproduction". At this point 1 was expected to feel class hatred; "Bloody bourgeois scum! Milk into river! Why not bring some to Mytishchi?"

In my Motherland there is no danger of overproduction, that I can witness after 30 years of socialist life. Shortages, but only as tempo- rary complications of rapid socialist growth. We may sometimes be short of potatoes, bread, matches, shoelaces, shoes, coaL kerosene, sheet iron, soap, strawberry jam, ballpens, living space, corn, wheat, meat of the first category, meat of the second, simple meat, eggs, warm underwear Dntzhba (made in People's China), winter coats made in C?echoslovakia. dry fish from anywhere — 'secondary* untypical products, without which our nation has survived and even made glorious achievements in space and Africa.

But not for a single second in the history of socialism have we been short of propaganda. This semi-fluid we produce in abundance for ourselves and for our foreign brothers.

The biggest overproduction ofpropagandacanbe observed within NovostL Where does it come from? How does it collect in the sewers, travel along, ferment, and what kind of fertiliser does it make? What sort of fruit grows on fields, sprinkled by our manure? Let us follow rhe flow of it from the very source.

Roughly speaking, there are three main sources of propaganda collected in Novosti: I) 'Mlpper" — ■• from Agitprop of the Party's central committee. ?)"Fxlernar — from theSoviet ma.s.s-media out- side APIM, and from foreign media, hoih progressive and reactiona- ry, 3) "Internal" — whatever we excrete ourselves.

Agitprap develops long-term and fortnightly propaganda plans for the Sovjei and foreign media, as well as key-points nf Marxist- Leninist Dogma, as interpreted by the present ideological elite This is for APN, our "general line" Fven rhe most "independent" and mature propaganda makers must digest Agitprop's formulirovki before giving forth

.;.■

■■-■ ■

.!■::: ifv,

32

Agitprop's plans are briefed to the chief editors of Novosii during regular meetings at the central committee. Enlightened, the chiefs come to Novosii and brief the senior staff — department editors, etc. These consequently, elaborate the plans in accordance with current events in their respective geographical areas, to match the "needs" of specific nations. In cases when current events stubbornly happen in contradiction to the directives of the Kremlin, the departments chief erfiror coordinates the How and consistency ol propaganda with the Central Committee by phone.

"Ejdtjnar sources can be subdivided into "domestic" "progres- sive luicigrr and ^reactionary foreign". Every year, day and minute, the mouMious Soviet mass media monopoly floods our country and our neighbour with oceans of stinking semi-fluid. The average homo soviet ico is used to the stench, and after three-quarters of a century simply passes it through his system as nor* digestible, Novos- ii men are quite another matter. We distinguish smells, colours con- sistencies and blends, selecting the choicicst pieces, chew them lovingly, and excrete new combinations and shapes.

My duty, for example, was to digest a pile of Soviet newspapers and periodicals daily in search of three or four bits still edible, with proper seasoning, for out developing brothers in the "Third World1', particularly those on the Indian subcontinent. This type of job can be trusted only to a comrade who has spent some time in I ndia, is farm liar with the languages and media of the country and who knows the tastes and mores of the population. Thus, for example, while picking through a rhapsodic piece from Soviet magazine Ogonyok, 1 omit references to hard labouring Soviet women (on railway and con- struclion projects, etc.), SO not to scare out uncmancipalcd Islamic sisters in Lucknow.

Another "domestic" source of raw propaganda is authors, out- sidres, freelancers, professionals, bureaucrats or "intelligentsia" —

obruzovamchina.

Each AfN editor is expected to have a circle of these experts in

various lields.

Let us take, lor example, a typical ease, when the Central Commit- tee have decided to mark t he glorious anniversary of Soviet Puwei in a Soviet Asian republic. Let us imagine also, that by coincidence one of the largest newspapers in India (say. The Statesman) has expressed a desire to get from Novosti something about farming in Uzbekistan. That olten happens: to "balance" the flow of informa- tion from the West, editors of Indian papers will pick up a Soviet story, straight irorn the horse, as it were. Upon getting sober, our man in Delhi will rm mediately send to Novosti Headquarters in Moscow a telex, zayavka- request. Suppose, the piece of paper falls on my desk with comrade Mafchotins red pencil mark: 'please, satis-

33

ly*. My first act would be to call the Representation of Uzbek SSR at the Council oJ Ministers of the USSR, and request the minister in charge, comrade, say, Gasanbeckov, to write for Novosti something about the glorious achievements of Uzbek people under the guidance of the Leninist Central Committee,

Comrade Gasanbeckov allows himself* to be talked into .such an important venture after half an hour on the telephone. He passes the buck to his aide, who spends another two hours on the phone, taking my dictation on the "main points". In two or three weeks the article is put on comrade Gasanbeckos desk. Comrade Gasanbeekov may even read some oT it, before signing, and dropping in the aouT*tray. The article travels with a special ministerial dispatch to Novosti. sometimes in a black Chaika limousine. It becomes obvious that the whole piece is illiterate, too long, and on a different subject: methods of cotton cross-breading. But Novosti's accounts department readily issues a modest honorarium — about four hundred rubles — to comrade Gasanbeekov, It is a trifle for a minister, but it pleasantly tickles his author's ego and further strengthens brotherly ties between U/.bek and Russian bureaucracies.

Sometimes, though, such an article is still born, either the minister is "out for the meeting at QC\ or has a hangover, or his aide mispla- ces the note with "main points" and is too shy to call me again. In other words, the opus docs not appear, and I notice steel in my boss's glances in the mornings. In this case I rewrite from a Tashkent local newspaper Kommtinisi (Jibekisronv, add some details from the Kazakhstan paper Lenin Zholw salt and spices, mention Indira GhandhTs visit to Tbilisi and comrade Gasanbeekov 'strip to Punjab last year, retype in three copies, and send to the Representation of Uzbek SSR. The article comes back with the precious doodle of comrade Gasanbeekov and the rest goes as above, including the "modest" honorarium.

The opus must, of course, pass through censor, be coordinated with Agitprops recent propaganda plan, etc. By the end of the fourth month it lands on the desk of the Statesman's editor in New Delhi with a rubber stamp: "Exclusive from Novosii". By that time, suffer- ing through the monsoon season, the editor is unable to remember why he ordered it.

Here, to refresh his memory, comes the Novosti man in Delhi with a bottle (or a case, depending on the importance of the trtpir) of whisky. The stuff is printed with photos of smiling Uzbek farmpix, proving the unmistakble advantages of Soviet socialist agriculture in formerly backward Asian regions.

"^fif" —

35

h

BOJIbUME 3AM ™

Hawaii* tta«««cn mvivp

■I; <aalta CTKT*r«f«llil]( * BHOOpOO. tWip« CTOltT 1UH;

GyjljT flu ii«anuH sfrWf»MK

JT***n MOPPHC

roupJiiWBjO N«pH&pb KnMKVIIHCTHWiCXnJl CapIMM

Ktimui

_ men ^«4»BCiiiwM A°«?

Hfli nm CiKAMeoiocbie UiT»Tbi „^T,-»

tosyi qht.r»I>aTb K»i»31t»H. 1*1 Wt KJHTJi

a topSukhih* OlflA. *to9*J KlrtfcM" MJ1«J HATO4 Rpwiifina niOP»U5 Csc;- '.1:1; hh Mil

nwepHKiHCMIU auftcMUX nntt. pMKfiUlLM HI

b jfjmjie » kuhcctm aanorg na sjkvchw* ttKpiWMtpilMJlCtor* Boiaujonaiiiin npqtib WW3J1VBU16I1 OWJIIJIIbl [MOPAAV l> n*" « ™f

Hci.Meioi ■ oallsm pjwiemeiwuT * aanuniefi rciwiaiiHii w Hi'WtiH (ofien liATO, 3o niicjicjnu ope«* QpgBiiTcAhtrua Lawn-

lmutU* lU»*^n» i«-r(!t.M,i Hirjio nwCEiUUnjIOCb)

»o dii>'tp<iiiimo £*na inuicll crpsiiit. U BitflS' pt iiLi(iiMH«m mm OhioiiiHn r«JjH&Ko>«jia¥' rniuifl HATO fc«icp»a Hopem nowfiifl H> uiv 11 arfcuiMiio njrpcMBflJi na n-pe<:<-3ioHK (bopcmwsi » draw, itiiuu nanaiu pp*nui.-ia

H.t*pM8 OpVHIlia (HCWPOC OjfjVf MI40«KSlt»

COOCtDMIHOCin Jl llflci nuiifjw »

Ma CllJAI, CO fijiupfl. lie »|j«wrii':jr'iH'tHp&64jiUifl«i-- npa.i •Diuiit.ifaiiD c BgiionemiM ops'

»ll7HJ:k.*M«H. (nf>JBip<»BHU

moil BmairtiKPBt CUIi\ Day- fauiuMin aamwiaim* n*» ne- iiith. KOTO|«e d[»f» npo»Kni>

pC'lfia* SaHMGMIlO V3HajlCH* UinJmiiiSPfiKPa no scnpK4

□IKJIiaiUr VdWIdlHHtailT HH

HiirisfHO!* n»pA»nente, 3to

3M M OCoOWMUlKJb BMfitr

pc-i. iia.t^Aitribiiiii En 8 4ft-

(HJtR.

f1(n\n«rii]5riHISH OOOida pas- se-jM-i.UiHin aoitpyf »T0m t* diw* nr» nftill tiittlte .(M3IKK drrtn-iunw: <lffl«airtio JtMp- H^f>> hpjhHiifl n.m Haoaii.ll*. CfopCiiimt*! uupa, n|xnt>tiHfr »i, Momn a?i»rtrpiiTi»wciaui

*bitivn*ioT naatBi jukhiiotv opyi Tonwo ipitjiryiflittu MmiMfliot st&cjojjftfi* icJibiiyo noKiuiira, Ouii tuaopsr. tJi»nn« —

ST9 1K!3tinnCH>*OCTb ttJHdUbr VI Jl.iCui>JILE94 CUlft. Hjc4"fl'»>^,so>i*'Jn|,,:T'J ytotToytn a npeflBbifcuwint ftop^fc, eflupajie, na ary

MTpiisril-itiiliiO G]K>rp4l»<y.

flC)-Miiea3ji«> ptr«, »M.i«ii*-j'

<m£b £i>frc>aJ. npnMii«jU.ibi1lia»- ."li.'-pi.-H, tiyiC(H» *T?MIT«Pbf*»S n«gui KipilhlMM-CCKi'l* t*J1^h- ICJi^C Q&uoA ClAPtHllJ. flflUKC

11 efnr-tivdii . a C flCTOfl •-»

3j;woiiiih» mnO'Aiiicn s cktokhbh aussWr

OilS IIC IIMCCT nOflHIWTbW JflOBJlfTUOpiHHlO-

tnrftiwTH vaindt CTpaHU- bbihibihi d snwi harjlHt<rw!*ltbMl rpiuianE»Bti* mjiihHj, moh- Unucipyintiliie jflwiciiwc or|>acjin nrounui'

JKI'IWVl"- H» » CI IC rt MO* jjBnr*rc/1tB- 05'*

iii>«m*« HaiiitJiQbi MwuieiOT k ncynpjjjnHir.

»». ,

nt.ixiH'iiiinA firTijlirVvTiiirs lie riJK0;ft3 It] DPI"

(aOaiHiiy 31>-a ixuob. Hnrai ««» npt,icii6j»- rt* (4oct«]<Ci nii«»rti»a oCpyijiHQiixcc-ji til |»- Ooiiu, Ttoflpv tcaplltouitia CTi.iJ nnct*a»- HD6 » H[H}MHiK*KCJfl- te jrpSMWb JH.n»«TCSI WJIillH aj (UlUt BlJCCHitt u jdirrijinux m»|i5-

»iorn» p**hh« riwiaioitu pasptmwT* ant

uv'-utre^biiyio npoiV.i(«T w YpeCyw* cjhbdiiio

biuj pi6a'«l» ill HUH W JritpeilllOCTrt * 3J&T-

. pnuiii«» jii«- o«ii*-«(».'ui^ii*

t *l(sii*5iw« nacuipni psiVny-

. < «ft*, tWCTTOBD ot >wi« llfllMV

-.-.-■- ■---; ndfincni, nptiJUiu&'i ir npiMiy-

^ci,f'**!S*:'4^k '■' iHTflXkiiiHiy ip*"rpomy irrmijk. •;•' — *... ^ MUpCBl*

> ' '■ ff-'^VWS'* • '■'■■■' '■ '^t'. llnlO MflaBTOBWH * *».tb»4

*■' ' fe." '■''V''£y !:r?l "aTfc <»njn)TM»n*n»B npt

ttJiiTua ~- ncc

CpVIKHlTi Uo

IttOl-

BTSJOtlU't IWKMtinrt flfl«<l»J' rwn ■ ftSlBtftOMttMII. 11 «t

Sco owiooumift- ■Ic^ciuiLaaK' aufl ;i*CTon ar«ntoKii>iec(»»

CUVTWil UC HCOKCT CflCdKlilfb

(WflOflCiKL pa<larott n I'tpanui*

point ell H|fV»i»iu-uiiHll HH-

iinnyH, <us rowipB yam » i<i><f

-<TO<Sw JjjrwoMMCpiHl. D«

crpcMLKiiKe OuTb us ypofliw

fuijnuniLiinillhtFA Bflin aTDlli

n awrrprtfiant. 3 Horoputi "M

as* hiiuh. npwpaflMB paCoHnx lit nMatwa «ajiin-.H eancj lUntno «of*Jki» 04 m H.iiuuBBUIUq- iiyHAbl, Ct<onb Obi HH r>MW> 9Ti> ianniir a «m- Tunnb ilyKtnU K0» HaniB. ECitt jiara D«^ liUfuinu-iailAiiu-ihK *iohi><p»i»II. jty«rtl*"U tiajtiy jiiQHonHny-. I»e fiy*«» <tp<nil«iia, «Tpllc3 aaiwti a rr«i<'-iati jior»ni*inni. 3 l*V ■'Jt1'*

H>

conn

CO.Ibr

beevi tptp>

B3Jtb fl«M

Ml I.

oaiLu

niijia

4ll*.T

li i

AD 1

Hilfl

flax<l

J I J

IUfl»

noiiy

CKiw

»nn

xOA

■ hi«fl

nasfl Bf

KSSMJ (tblB* P"!

Miip

Cmio

JIMS

«IHl

tawt. Ila ( aw*

>':1lin

•l!r

ri-'-l-L'. rj.:;i ili

tiiidt

JKCJi

j-nflp *«. I

■IC .1

pi**

yCilf

A

"*flc :£::.'!. B»er

^Hllik

h4d<

Vicious Circle Of He: a reprint of Novoi*i fabrication plan- ted in a Canadian Communist tabloid — in Soviet Travda".

ONE DAY IN THfc LIIKfc UK A JNOVOSTI EMPLOYEE

7:0fla_m.

Heroically overcoming the headache — the result ol yesterday s socializing with Novosti colleagues and our foreign "little brothers" — • 1 wakf> up in my nlosi^i of n room in the communal apartment we share with another family, thai of a worker who rmikes parts for spumit'** m a Miper<;eemt factory in the neighboring township of Podlipki. Trying not to disturb the proletariat, or ro awaken my parents ("Where were you so late yesterday? Is it really necessary to spend THAT mueh time with your colleagues?"), I tiptoe to our communal bathroom. My parents sleep across; the corridor. Once in the bathroom my concern is not to fart (oo loud, forourapartment is far from soud proof.

After scanning through a Pravda editorial, 1 crumple the front p;igc of the most trulhjul newspaper in the world. Having tried to avoid imprinting myself with the large portrait of comrade Brezhnev, delivering another historical speech, I make sure it is discretely flushed down, 7:20

In ourcommunul kitchen I put the kettle on the snove to boil water for tea, Meanwhile I tiptoe to our communal bathroom and spend some time in front of our communal mirror, puzzled by the sight of my own face and the obvious fact of my existence. Shaving with a Soviet-made Kharkov razor proves the fact even further. I go through my morning fitness exercises, careful not to disturb our neighbor's laundry, drying on a clothes line hanging across the bath- room and beyond. A cold shower makes an awful lot of noise. 7:30

I finish yesterday's bomhelx in the kitchen, wash it down with hot tea, and ballet back to my room. Dressing to the radio news f learn a lot about the achievements oi Soviet industry and stagnation of the Western one After the news I listen to invigorating sounds ol liu dash kin's 5th Symphony for balalaika and orchestra, dedicated to the XXI I Party Conference. 7:35

I fish out a miki of vodka from behind a row of neat imitation leallna -bound volumes ol the complete collections of works by V.I Lenin on my father's shelf. (My father subscribed to the works when he was a young student of Frunze Military Academy — hcjusthadto — and ever since the precious volumes have rested in peace and honour.) I have a gurgle with the vodka, return the miki to Lenin, and decisively exit from the apartment, ignoring grumbles emana ting from my mother.

34

■■:

■s"

:: •

.. .

36

7:45

I briskly walk towards Mytishchi railway station, a half milt walk from our "military township,*" Woycnka, the residential area for the .staff of the Military Communications Research Institute, where my father worked prior to his promotion to the General Staff and later retirement from the service.

7:52

I've made it. 1 run through the automatic doors of the suburban ffecirUfika train "Zagorsk-Mo.seow," pressing myself into the mass of wa rtti passenger* overcrowding the carriage. The pneumatic doors shut behind inc. pulling the tails of my jacket. 1 try to take a deep breath, and an unwelcoming comrade, into whose bosom I am pressed, exhales gailic, sardines in tomato sauce and rye bread. I catch sight of the pole tender profile of another victim of the morning rush houi, She baicly exists, squashed between myself and some- one's leather-coated back, 1 smile and make some room for her. She smiles back, coming to life acid inhaling stuffy air. Her shoulders feci SOfl, and 1 almost touch her hah with my check. The train stops at iMSinka station, and (he pressuie pei square inch upon our bodies doubles with a new bunch of smelly passengers. Now we arc literally '"flesh of one flesh."

8:15

Moscow terminal. We fall out the duo is of the train, compressed into a single mass still, like half-alive Jewsdeliveted by cattle-car to the gas ovens Of Treblinka, In the morning light I ci ideally obsci vc my fellow traveller and discover that her legs are bowed, and that lier Czechoslovakia coat is crumpled, hanging on her fragile figure like an empty potato bag. i smile farewell. She is swallowed by a whit pool of a crowd casting SOS glances, drawn by another stream towaids Komsomolskaya metro station, 8:17

Going down the escalator, I notice a shapely figure eiad in an imported Bolonia raincoat, her sporty legs sunburnt. 1 elbow my way through the crowd, trying to see her face, I make sure to squeeze into the same subway car with the "Botoma." Pressed together, we study each other's anatomy through a quarter inch of clothing. At Mrov- skaya station 1 venture into a conversation. By Dzerdzhimkaya 1 manage to get to the point of asking her for a telephone number. She says she does not have any. She lies, l give her mine, and exit at Pros- pect Marksa with a Gagarin smile. The train carries "Bolonia" to Bihlioteka Lenma.

I emerge at Pushkin street, meditating upon "Bolonia," hoping she phones. The weather is good, so I walk. Two blocks south of Pushkin

37

square 1 drop into the "Tiixists Cafeteria" and have a quickie. A standard breakfast otsoshki with sauerkraut (the Russian hot dog), an apple, and a cup o\' tea. The price of the breakfast is one- hundredth of my monthly pay; I ruble 50 kopeccks. Thanks and glory to the Party's Leninist Centra! Committee. 8:53

I arrive by the guarded glass doors of Novosti, keeping rny ID card ready in hand, with a feeling that almost half of my duly to the Motherland has already been completed. 9:05

At my desk, meditating and (secretly) picking my nose, I triumphantly observe others getting in late and, depending upon their position, that they arc nervous or casual about it. 9rl5

The progressive struggle foi possession of the TASS reports pile starts immediately it an ives in our office from dispatch. The pile is promptly divided into the "open" TASS — the reports about achievements of oui own and brotherly socialist countries, in which nobody is interested, and "DS"' — Dopolniiefnyie Soobshcfl&nia — these letters are stamped in the upper right corner of each page Here we can read about happenings in the decadent capitalist countries and the People's China. These pages we read more attentively, but quickly, to be able to get to the most desirable part of the pile: the pages with a single red tetter A in the upper right corner. This is what they call "white TASS" — the most "secret" information: transla- tions ofai tides and comments of the Western papers about us, about trials uf Soviet dissidents, strikes in places like Novocherkassk or Minsk, gossip from the Kremlin, as perceived and interpreted by "■icliable sources close to the Central Committee" by sensationalist Western reporters. Over these pages we fuss the most, trying to snatch them from each other and reading sometimes over someone's shoulder, impatiently and eagerly. Sometimes the 1 ASS pile by- passes our room and goes directly to comrade Pushkov s oil ice. That happens when our glorious and peace-loving armed forces liberate someone from imperialist aggressors. 9:40

Soviet newspapers arrive. Unwillingly tearing ourselves from the "sensationalist fabrications" of Western media, we begin to scan the "most truthful." Not for information, ot course, but in search of materials appropriate for external use. That could be an article, the topic of which corresponds to the list of ^orders" from a foreign branch of Novosti. or sim ply a less dogmatic piece of propaganda, fit for consumption in a not- too-progressive brotherly country.

Each of us checks our desk to see if there is any zayavka — a request for such an article, red pencil marked by our boss. If there is

' .:"

.

•■:';

■;■

:\

!•■=■

i ■ •1

33

none, wc took through the Soviet mukulatura (waste paper) rather casually. On my desk, most of the time, I find some note from my boss comrade Makhotin, to find a suitable piece on growing cotton in Uzbekistan and an interview with a Soviet indologist. Often there is also a hint where to look lor it; in today's papers, in [bckartoteku, the daily APN bulletin, or solicit such from an outside author In extremis — to concoct it myself.

For each 1 am supplied with an ample stock of little mketas, the size of an index card, with red-lettered words printed across: "origin- al/'"copy" or "culling." The last is for pieces I clip from the morning papers. Ankeia also demands from me the name of the author, editor {mc), to which country or geographical area the piece is to be ad- dressed, into which languages to be translated and how to be deliv- ered (by foreign branch of Novosii, by telex, by diplomatic bag. by ordinary mail or through a foreign correspondent in Moscow).

An average piece of propaganda does not take much time to process. ! cut It from the newspaper page, paste it on a blank sheet ol white paper, change the title from "The Glorious Achievements of Kazakhstan's Desert Captains" to a modest "Kazakhstan: The Insert Yields Cotton Fields." I replace two or three paragraphs and citi mil one-third of the text, and finally sign the copy at the bottom, putting the code letters of our department (GRSAZ — Glavnava Re/tnkmia Stran Asii). and lay the masterpiece on comrade Makho- t in's rlesk.

to-nn

Comrade Makhotin arrives, as usual, in an impeccable gray suit and white shirt, smelling of expensive shaving lotions of decadent bourgeois origins. He personifies efficiency and good manners* a replica of ihe successful businessman in the decadent bourgeois West He briefly leafs through the garbage piled by us on his desk, barely concealing his contempt. The "cuttings'* and Novosii bulle- tins' "copies" be signs almost without a glance, and with two fingers easts them inrn the ^nnf1* Iray. 'as if handling a dead mousi*

Materials solicited by A f*N\ foreign bureaus or even by individual foreign newspapers are treated with more respect: they must be sale- able. An "order" — wyavka from New Delhi looks like a telegram. and it is up to comrade Makhotin to decide who of the staff should be entrusted with it. After a moment of meditation, Makhotin drops it on .someone's desk . Today ii land 4 on mint*, so I must devise a way to provide the material, find make suggest inn to the boss. The ways may be several: to search for material on the topic in our kermieka. to order it from a Novosii author in any cither department, or finally, to write it myself The latter is a privilege., for I am paid a modest royalty from our department's honorarium fund, always overspent. Makho- tin is in a good mood, and 1 get his royal approval I start concocting thr; article

39

When the opus i.s ready and typed. 1 attach an ankeia to it, and put it on Makhotin's desk. That's when the cycle of propaganda diges- tion <or indigestion) begins. M:<)0

I am lucky. The boss signs my opus, briefly scanning through it, and not passing it to another junior editor to groom. I pick it up. and start my trip through Novosii s intestines, as we say in Russian, "like a fool running with a bagful of shit."

My first stop isai the "registration" room, a part oflhckdrtoteka, described in an earlier chapter. Here I wake up a plump girl, day- dreaming, and, using my charm, hypnosis, humor, and physical force, make her open a huge log book and enter the number of my article on the appropriate page, and print with a rubber stamp the same number on my ankera. Having completed this gigantic fit of labor, the girl drifts back into her daydream. 11:10

Leaving her, I fly to the censor's room f do not remember a single ease when one of the three censors passed my material on the spot, even if it was totally innocent and did not contain any state secrets. The censor mumbles, "Put it there, come back in a minute . . ."and absent-mindedly states into another article, straining his brains to find secret information the decadent enemy in the West could turn against us.

"In a minute," my article is still there. It would be still there in an hour, three hours, a day, a week, etc., so I take it into my strong young Communist hands and bring it to the censors very purple nose, while making vague gestures and whispering something like. "Ivan Peirovich wanted this urgently for the telex dispatch at 6:25." There is no Ivan Petrovich and there may not be any telex connection with Delhi at 6:25. but that is immaterial, 1 even suspect thai the censor knows I am bluffing. But my bluff works because 1 know the magic power which Russian patronimics, whispered respectfully wnh mysterious numbers, and words like "urgent'" and "classified." accompanied by vague finger gestures towards the ceiling .has on the simple tired souks of Soviet bureaucrats.

The censor pretends to find some small error in my article, inquires about the meaning of several figures borrowed from the official sta- tistical yearbooks, looking nevertheless suspicious, and hesitantly puis his rubber stamp on the upper right corner of each page of my article 11:25

Snatching my work from the censor, I run back to the daydream- ing girt: my material is "original/' and the topic could be of use to some other department. A copy must be deposited in t he kartoieka. This lime the girl must enter every detail of the ankeia. perfectly

dearly, just inca.se.

41

Comrade Md.huiln In one of hfe best mood, (and toxida«)

.-.••:.•■

a: aw*- - ■«» — «P~

"^^s * ~d « « ««ng pi.o,ocnpy,tlg APN c,11P;, ' xh;"::'r "s,orchouses **

deeply as Kn.iinlcniion.ir vy glance at, he iT"^ Wh° Wu«"» machine give, bi,,h ,0 a pinkM, 1,11 ?"■ J" her blouse' The

P"g» agams, a bright feh, P °PV- ^'^ ir*ou "old the

11:40 s

•-Wa„o„ -•P.nai^^rh.^^t^? ^^ " "* girls, snuggling through a nil? »f^ • ' °r,he ov«-ripe

'»'" borin, E„g|i5l, .I ^;*N. ,o be turned

*> mtoute*. bat with rav cnr~2nZ {"* "** ,hem abo<« only 20 There is no, much niMV ,0 £"£ "* P '"g " "*» take »«<* «f u slightly varied comb^^o " h^^ir'f r'icl"on- unchanged since ||f * Petroin h" n °'d C"Ches- alm°«

"""'vcrsalkitforncwsnar^ w, ''lP BCnder ">vei"^ hiS

■*<*"« idea, that b^U^r^n^°!'l'tb0ikd0*'to' world, everyone should l,s,e„ and ^ "' '" dn °!l,erwlse deaden,

mmd. Thegirlpa(roni^ n e ,„d 1, ? '"" my^ b<" *>»*

'ootinga, measaG1Iwt1ZVroka« C^"t'CCrmV"'fo1 m>"^. <■» copy. To typists W,0<,Utas™llb^-Bm!flyawaywith

12:15

*'«h her to a Beno'ka foreion 1, t0 i11^1' a not her t, ip

-to. my piece ™™*Z^^$%£r- ^ , «ripj' "l « despatched to India. „ eouU^.,1 « ^ m"r" Before Makliotinand Pushkov. ifi, nrZ*n "7»T??e?Ua™ from m.8hi relax - Tamara wou.dXC o h ^""^"il. urgenfand meam to be transXed 'v ? , ,"* mak'rial «

round of troubles. I hav, ,„„,, ^ » ? ' $° ' haw an0"'"

«V«*. He is absent, so t JtoZ^^T't0"' Pashkov members of the directorial b«1rd * "* nTr™d *mb"* °r* ohhe get his signature in a "^ t^ ■ ^^ ' T ,U,*V: ' content of myopusfPishehitnevX^stoT,,^'18 him on ,he ts done, not so much for sadis,"™,™^ M thC '""^ Al> lhis

•«- text getting on the inte™ 07a Td Pre™tany ""™ant-

of the KGB. '^t'onal radlu waves, suit out of control

12:30

lrUnbaCk'0!hCr°-hn— ^cthethtnginroth,^.^

:■■.

■■■-?■ .

■!;■;

r-;

■

?:"■:■

■;-i

dow in i he huge plastic wall ol the teletype hall. "I he dezhurnara girl operator scrutinizes the text, lest there should be anything but sub- versive propaganda. She passes it to one ol the key-punch typists, and I finally lose control over my creation. It is on its way to India to do its job of screwing up Indian minds.

1:00 p.m.

Trying to catch my breath. I run into a colleague, equally sweaty and wild-eyed. We start negotiating the lunch break. One dot's not simply "have lunch" in Novosti. unless, of course, he is a newcomer or a hopeless misfit. Anyone with prestige and position belongs to one's own "lunch group." And, depending on the amount of cash (the closer to pavdav potuchka, the less), the group either Rocks to the Novosti cafeteria, or files out through the glass doors into Moscow's

streets

The purpose of the lunch group is very important: it indicates who are your friends, and what is your worth. Some "privileged" groups heart towards Moscow's high-class restaurants* such as the Aragvi, Uzbekistan, or Baku. Our Asian department sponsors the Pi'km restaurant in Mayakovski Square.

Only with one's lunch group can a Novosti man be safe tocritici/e his bosses and express political views. To be admitted to a group, one musi prove his discretion, sense of humor, cameraderic and ability lo pay hack borrowed money. My group consists of Karen Gcvork- yiw. admirer of Caucasian and Oriental foods. Vadim Smirnov, my schoolmate later co-opted to the CC. Today we include some: out- siders' Dima from TASS. VikLor from external al'Jairs (both ArabkK), and another Viktor, from the KGB, Our loyalty has been tested hy years of friendship. None of us, we want to be sure, is able to report on another.

We would never allow an unfit member into our group, such as Ben 7mnvy*»v. a shifty little bastard, who runs with his boss's. Sasha Gornov's, car keys ahead of his boss to warm up the motor ol his export-brand Volga station wagon. Disgusting. We would not bother, on the other hand, to infiltrate a group of such lunchers as Gromyko\ son. or Rrc/hncv s daughter, or Krushchevs son-in-law. all of them belonging to Novosti s elite. We would not feel comforta- bly in their prcr- nrr even it they would not mind playing at "demo- cracy" and having some of us in their company, for entertain mem, if nothing eke. 1:15

The weather permits, so we walk to our meeting place. The way to Uzbekistan is loveliest of all — along the boulevard, watching pretty yirls sitting on park benches.

43

3:00

When all topics and political jokes and gossip are exhausted, we head hack to the office in a peaceful and la/y mood. The rest of the working day could vary from continued flying around to sitting at one's desk, pretending to be busy. Some ambitious comrades spend the rest of the day composing their own materials or doing the research for them.

Reading Soviet newspapers gives me masochistic pleasure: it makes me deeper and harder in my hatred of the system and it cures any illusion ihiit the -system can ever have "a human face." ■■UK)

We have our "coordinating meeting" or [troizvoti.'itvenimye sovexhi-hanixe — a boring and unproductive exchange of opinions on each other's work, mainly with The only ultimate purpose in mind . to kill any creative and individualistic effort in its earliest embryo- nic stage. Figalitariankm in mediocrity knur guiding rule. We receive a short briefing on the latest lists of topics and viewpoints suggested to Novosti by our immediate master. Agitprop In these hriefings (h>itK'hka}w<s< us journalists and member* of the Party. elahnrafcon the ways to put the stupid and totally illogical usianavkirf Agitrop into passable, or even entertaining verbal form, so thai they may have u chance to be picked up And reprinted in the foreign media S.00

The exodus starts. Bosses disappear first. The masses sometimes stay behind Jock the doors and have a little celebration, in which case a junior will be sent to the Gastronom across Pushkin square for a bottle (or two), 6; 00

On the way home, in the electric train, 1 observe the proletariat and kolkhoztuks, crowding and sweating, carrying with them large net- bags, uvo.ska* tightly stuffed with bread, macaroni, cheap kolbasa or sarcfeiki, trying to *'erase the difference between the city and village" by buying foodstuff:; in Moscow and carrying them home. I listen to their life stories and anecdotes and their complaints about the hard life. I sympathize but at the same time feel happy I am not one of thciru 1 am of the privileged clays 1 do not have to carry food home from Moscow to Mytishchi; I do not have to stand in long lines, for I have access to special shops for those a little bit more equal than others in the land of equality and abundance.

On the other hnnd, the proletarians have something I lack freedom to curse our leaders and our system aloud. They have "nothing to lose but their chains."! have a lot to loose, if I loosen my tongue. So, pretending to be half asleep, I listen to the wisdom of the poor — political jokes, same of which 1 will "sell" to my Novosti colleagues tomorrow at lunch.

--.-.:■■■-.■:.«««

:.■ •

:.:■

I

■::■-.

:::-:-

I

fci

:■■.

■:■'■': '

!&■•'■ ■

44

7 00

J seldom watch TV. While at home, my favorite medium is a short- wave radio set, imported by my father from liberated East Germany. I spend hours by the set. tuning to the Voice of America, BBC and Deutsche Welle for news from abroad: Radio Luxemburg and Radio Teheran, for music: All India Radio, for nostalgia. But the most exci- ting for me is Radio Svoboda (or Radio Free Europe), the station that informs me about happenings in my own country It is an irony:

I work for a news agency.

At the supper table I quarrel with my parents and tell them 1 am not going to be thankful to them for a lihappy childhood" in the sys- tem they have built for me. My father, an old Bolshevik, calls me names, but my mother, daughter of an affluent Ukrainian farmer, tells me with a sigh that with my attitude, Pd be unhappy under any system. 9:00

I retire to my room with a paperback American novel, borrowed from a No-vosli friend just returned from abroad, or with a copy of a Samizdat, entrusted to me only for the night. I know 1 will never be able to write and self-publish anything like this. I have sold my soul to the system.

'La dolce vita" of the Novosti elite.

m

45

WHAT ARE FOREIGNERS?

"Big deal!" some of my countrymen may say. "foreigners are people who live in foreign countries, encircling the Soviet Union."

"What else?"

"Well . . . foreigners are free to come to us. but we cannot go to them."

"Very narrow definition, comrade! Shame on you! You should read more newspapers!

"Oh. , . i . . . of. will you!"

"No, first* let me teU you what foreigners are. Correct mc, if 1 am wrong.11

Foreigners arc, for us. divine creatures, dangerous and hated, ['hey are people from a different planet, every molecule of their bodies being made from a different set of elements. We treat them with respect and fear, tryi ng to please by showing our best and newest communal barracks and whichever crop has survived in the collec- tive fields, But at the same time we have to be extremely vigilant with them, for any one of them maybe an enemy, a spy, a subverter, a saboteur. Foreigners are of different kinds: proletarian and bour- geois, but it is safer to suspect them all.

Foreigners wear unavailable things: stretch socks, nylon shirts, Italian rain coals, high boots 'Via- Russcv made in Japan, fur coats made ol Siberian fox and sables, Dacron suits, woolen sweaters, etc. Foreigners' pockets contain desirable things such as ball-point pens and chewing gum. There are numerous cameras around their necks, and most of them work, Foreigners drive shiny foreign cars, and when they park on our streets we gather around their cars, touching the chrome, but utterly indifferent to this gimmick of capitalism. Some people say that foreigners give us credits in their foreign cur- rency. And we love their currency, irrespective of age. Party status or position. Most of us love it plaionically, just being happy to learn that our mighty State has received a few billion decadent unworthy American dollars from whatever deal. The biggest lovers of foreign currency are our biggest people, our leaders, "servants of the people."" For example, the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR is so crazy about the foreign credits thai he readily gives away anything we have: timber, gas, oil, caviar, vodka, Jews, matreshka dolls, gold, masterpieces of art from the Hermitage, icons; if there were wheat, he would give them that, but it docs not grow well in our country due to "unfavourable climatic conditions." The ordinary people, for selling their personal effects to foreigners in exchange for the currency which the state loves, may be executed, as ^economical enemies of the State."

•■:■

■?■■.-.

■■:■' :'■■'

	L;: ■
'	f '(.;'.'
	;'■':..
	;T"
	!■•■ ■
	1
.	i" ■
	:■;■■. ■
■:	■! ;"
	fc '
■	w&
..	i'f; :
:	V'. .
	!■
■'■	; ■■■ •
..'	T
	S-'
' '•	p
■=■;	v.'.y.
i	\ ■'■
■■;i	.
..-:

46

This is another reason foreigner arc so much hated by us. The my in reason, though. Is that our land is encircled by imperialists, who constantly plot to eliminate ourglorious State, This is why every t rut putriol and internationalist has unanimously supported the efforts of our armed lorccs to protect our encircled Motherland, by fighting against Western imperiiilism in Afghanistan, Vietnam, South Korea, h'inltind, Norway, Portugal, Africa, India. Cuba, Angola, Ethiopia. Nicaragua, 1:1 Salvador, Chile. Canada and Antarctica. That is why every Soviet patriot imiM develop in himself a pure class hatred to every io reign imperialist, and constantly reveal alt foicigucis as agents of foreign imperialism. \s that clear so far?

"Clear that you talk too much. What is your name, cot made'.' May [ sec you i documents?"

{You see. tie thinks 1 ttiii a luietguei!)

******

Until 1957 1 do not remember seeing any foreigners a I all. therefore I had only warm feelings lor them, intuitively understanding that whatever bad is said about foreigners by our propaganda is untrue, I envied foreigners because they lived in foreign countries. I longed to meet the foreigners, but they were too far away. Somewhere there were brave French stevedores who refused to load tanks for Vietnam, there were oppressed and deprived American Blacks, and exploited American workers; there were hungry farmers in Canada — but I had never seen them. Most probably, the imperialist circles did not lei these good foreigners leave iheir countries and come to our land for fear that they would see how lucky we were with Socialism, oral least that was the explanation in the newspapers,

At a certain age I wanted to be a foreigner, feeling myself a bit of a misfit. Imagine a ten-year-old boy listening on the radioabout bread growers oi Stavropolye overfulfilling the plan of wheat harvesting for the State, or seeing the movie "Cossacks or Kuban" where the collective farmers' tables were loaded with food and wine, and at the same time in Kiev my mother would wake me up at 6 a, m, to take my place in the bread line You would feel like a foreigner; especially if you were born into a Soviet army officer's family and still remem- bered although vaguely, such things as Spam, powdered eggs, condensed milk, supplies to us by fendiease from the U.S.

When I became a high school student, I remember being a success- ful impersonator of foreign accents in school amateur shows.

In 1957. forthe.sat^e of "'strengthening peaceandfriendsriiparnong the nations of the world." Ntkita Sergcevitch Krushchev allowed the first ever "International Youth Festival" in Moscow. We saw as many foreigners as we wanted. They were walking in Red Square!

47

Alive! Unprotected ! One could (carefully) approach them, touch them, say something like, "Mir, druzhba!" (peace, friendship). Exchange badges! Addresses! We could really strengthen friendship, for about two weeks!

"Moskva— Kaluga— Las Angeles United gladly into one kolkhoz!"

When the young foreigners finally left Moscow and went to their respective foreign countries to continue the work of Communist propaganda, by telling fables about Soviet achievements, after Moscow was cleaned and swept of foreign cigarette butts and chewing gum wrappers, out VD clinics became crowded with young people who took "strengthening of peace and friendship" too literal- ly. Many of them lost some part of their admiration for things foreign.

As to me, I managed to preserve my faithfulness to the Motherland and did not catch VD. So I was still fond of foreigners. Moreover, from admiration of well-tailored clothes and elegant cars I made a further step to the realization that the foreigners were superior to us in a way: they were natural, they were not afraid to socialize, they were free to criticize their governments and countries. Slowly the idea jyew in my mind: I understood that democracy is not whatexists in the USSR, it is what foreigners have in their countries. And I had faith in democracy. At that time I could not know that many of my countrymen also had faith in Western democracy, and that this faith had cost hundreds of thousands of litem their lives. Only many years iater did I learn what Western democracies did to prisoners of war who rebelled against the Soviet fascism during World War II and joined Germans in the vain hope of crushing Stalin's tyranny. They had no other choice: the West was not going to help my nation to overthrow the gentlemen in the Kremlin: on the contrary, they were "allies" with Stalin. Unarmed, unprotected, naively trusting the "common sense" of Westcncrs, thousands of men, women and children then gave themselves up to the British and Americans, who lurried them over to Stalin, and collective graves. Thus the West betrayed its only friends in Soviet Russia, leaving enemies alive and well paid.

But back in 1957 I did not know that. The facts about the shameful Yalta deal and 'keelhaul' betrayal were concealed both by Soviet propaganda and by the Western media. At that time my attitude to foreigners could best be defined by the words' admiration, hope and envy." In the early 1 960s thai attitude slowly changed to "puzzlement and confusion "

After my first several contacts with foreigners during my universi- ty yea is, my attitude di^rus^ed furihci towards "pily arid disillusion-

;*■'

=■.■

48

a g

O O

o o

<

< S s

Q Q ^

£ 31 3

p J2 S o

7, Q Q U

•5 5 £

Z £ H

X

<

o

w

Q

o z

H -<

5 » Q O

< ft!

6 W

< X

American singer Paul Robeson doing his propaganda slant.

4a

ment," and after gradual ion from the Oriental Studies Institute and several years of Novosti work with foreigners, both in the USSR and abroad, the barometer drifted further down.

1 he process ol losing faith in the foreigners started ever so slowly. Try to imagine post-war Moscow, hardships. Cold Wiir paranoia, new waves of political arrests, disintegration of whatever freedom our people had won from Stalin a*a reward for winning the war. Old people trembled every night expect ing the KG I) to knock at thedooi. Young people were hypnotised by the cynicism of government tenor a rid propaganda. Imagine now, that horn the stronghold of Western licedoms the United States* to which Soviet citizens seeielly prayed for salvation and hope* there comes a "civil lights fighter.1' world- famous singer Paul Robeson. He sings to us, the while slaves of Stalin, about the black slaves of Uncle Sam. Thai we can understand* But when that "bird with black eggs" sings lo us;

"1 dv not know any otha lountry.bta the USSR Where man ctm brtruffte .wfieety"?

When I had become a member oTthe Young Pioneer Organisation (the Soviet equivalent of Hitler's Jugend), I remember being told to draw the "peace dove"" of f'ablu Picasso, This was the lime of the notorious "Stockholm Peace Appeal" - another propaganda trick for the naive Western world. Everybody was collecting signatures under the Stockholm appeal to ban nuclear armament, and most Soviets undeistood that it was a fake. Even as a teenager 1 could see thiough the whole thing and started actively hating not only "peace and doves," but anything painted by Pablo Picasso, good or bad. Many yeai> later I can explain my aversion to the great painter in logical terms, an honest anist must not allow a communist- fascist regime to use his work for propaganda.

Imagine Moscowr in I960, a hungry year of disastrous crop failure. Despite the declarations of Krushchev about the USSR '"overtaking the USA" in all kinds of production, including milk and meat, the situation even in Moscow foodsiores was tragic. In the students' canteen or Moscow State University there was no more free bread on the tables, one of their previous liber lies. A mam moth "World Peace Congress" was summoned to Moscow. Paid by the Kremlin, thousands of our foreign friends had come to Moscow to talk about the necessity of disarming the West. "Humanists'' - ■ writers, priests, scientists, lawyers, political and public figures, irrespective of race, color or creed, arrived in the USSR with one thing in common: a selective blindness to the negative side of Soviet life.

Imagine the abundance of the Kremlin palace, where all these "peaceniks" stuffed themselves with selected foods, while ordinary people continued to queue for the humblest necessities.

50

imagine ihe group of well-tiouiislicd Western delegates, stuffing Itomselves with caviar and siuigeon in the Kremlin, telling mc, their interpreter, how bad life is in America, how banks force them to buy more and more goods on credit, and huw Americana are in so much debt that they do not belong 10 themselves, but to the banks.

1 could not respond properly, nvi spit in their fat feces, for fear of KGB agents sneaking all over the Kremlin, oven hearing the *frcc exchange of ideas."

I%2. Baku, the capital city of a colony of Moscow, named Azerbaijan. I am in a black Cfiaika limousine (a bad Soviet replica of the Cadillac). 1 am accompanying a distinguished guest from India, a wnlcr. politician, humanist, friend of the Soviet people. I take him lor a irip to the sea oil exploration of the Caspian "Oil stones," Our limousine stop* at a red light, and in the bright early morntngsun my Indian guest sees a colorful and long queue of people, standing by the bread store "Bittochnaya. "

"What are these people doing?" asks the writer, politician and humanist.

"Waiting lor the morning newspaper pravda," I answer without hesitation, knowing that our driver, a KGB man, overhears every word,

"Truly, Til tell you, the Soviet system of total literacy docs wonders!" says the guest, rolling down his window to better observe the highly-educated Soviet masses. A! this very moment a tiny wicket -window of the store opens and the first loaf of bread emerges, eagerly caught by the lirst man in the line. At the head of the line so me disturbance occurs: two mustached Azerbaijani men drag away a screaming Russian babushka, and I overhear the words. "Go to Moscow, and eat your f. . . ing Russian bread, not our Aserbaijani one!1* The old woman, crying, got to the end ol the line,

Ihe traffic light changes to green, and our black limousine speeds away from the "newspaper kiosk." On the docks ot the sea oilexplo- ration platform we are met by Party and administration bosses, Before the inspection, we are invited "lor a snack," which happens to be a luxurious feast with lots of booze and caviar.

"To peace and friendship among the peoples! "says the Party boss, raising his glass ol vodka.

"To India's socialistic path, following the great example of the USSR!" answers the Indian guest.

What an honest person should have done, would be to stand up and tell the Party boss that he refuses to eat .drink, or for that matter inspect the "glorious achievements," in a symbolic protest of solidari- ty with the hungry people. Nothing unusual. The politicians and humanists do it back home in India to show solidarity a gainst the big capitalists. Why are they so shy in the USSR?

51

And the last episode. A well-known poet of India, translated in the US and Great Britain, comes to the USSR for a vacation paid for by the Soviet government, as a reward for his "revolutionary" activities in the past, In the early twenties, he had helped to undermine law. order and social institutions in the former British colony; not by writing poems, of course: they came later, when the young revolu- tionary poet became the old revolutionary poet, glorifying his own deerh. What were the deeds? Smuggling firearms, ammunition. mine*;, explosives and ideological propaganda into India via Kabul from a spy and sa hot age training centre in Tashkent,

As we If now now, independence came in a different way. thanks to responsible national leaders, not using explosives and ammunition smuggled from Soviet Russia As for the revolution, it did not. work quite the way he wanted. Bui the Soviet junta did nnf give up its efforts to turn the former British rotnny into a present Soviet one* Only now, after Stalin's death, the met hodswre re changed. It was the time of "peace and friendship and co-existence and cooperation." meaning subversion, and the revolutionary poetry was needed to marry the struggle of Nehru and Gandhi with the great ideas of Marx, Engels. Lenin and Krushchev.

More than forty years were sacrificed by the Indian revolutionary poet for the cause of freedom, equality and progress, to own the right to see the country of freedom, equality and progress. A dehydrated, wrinkled and shaky seventy -year-old revolutionary was delivered, under my gu idance as an APN t ranslator, to the "special" clinic of the Kremlin, open to Party leaders but closed to the masses,

A rosy, plump Russian lady doctor, specially selected to treat the elite, attentively listened through a stethoscope to the tired heart of the revolutionary. I dutifully translated her commands to breathe and not to breathe into Urdu: and his incoherent senile boasting into Russian.

"Why hove you neglected your health so much'?" asked the Russian doctor, polpiting his chicken like chest,

ltOh> there was no time for hygiene and health care,"" said the poet proudly, "we were too busy, blowing up police stations, shooting the British officers from behind the corners, robbing the banks, inciting mutinies, agitation, getting jail terms . . . you know, revolutionary struggle is not a joke ..."

"Oy-oy. "sighed the compassionate lady." what a heroic man \ You have probably seen Lenin?"

"Yes, 1 have met Lenin," answered the chicken-revolutionary modestly.

"Da!" said the Kremlin doctor decisively, "well give you first class treatment. People like you should be taken care of."

I easily imagined a different situation. What if the son of this good-

■

'-

'; ■

.:

U.S. defense commitment to Western Europe come* under attack by vocal minority; pressure also builds inside U.S.

"Foreigners" — and the rnd result of anti- Americanism: scum burning us flag "for peace". Why not Soviet nag?

53

hearted Russian lady doctor, an officer of the Soviet colonial Army in Hungary, had been shot from behind a corner by a Hungarian revolutionary poet9 Would she sigh about that Hungarian's neglec- ted health? Or would she rather approve what was done by her son to the hundreds of Hungarian revolutionary poets, cornered in bullet- ridden city buildings, surrounded with Russian tanks and blasted at, point blank, mixing bricks'dust, water pipes, window glass and book shreds with Hungarian blood into one porridge?

Many years later, when I had already defected to the West, 1 read the book "The Russians" by Leonid Viadimirov. He wrote thai, "among the Soviet intelligentsia there was no hatred towards foreign liberals, leftists and other misguided people, who allowed Soviet propaganda to take advantage of them; if anything they felt condescending compassion,*1 writes Viadimirov. "because many Soviet intellectuals understand that most of the 'fellow-travellers'are *honest. humane, only naive* people."

If this is true, then the gallery of the naive and misled is larger than the Hermitage. From presidents and prime ministers, giving half of Europe over to slavery by a scribble of their pen, to entertainers and artists glorifying that slavery for a handsome payment from Novosti; from great humanists to great bandits — all sorts, all colors, all creeds,

I am not an "intellectual," and unlike my countryman Viadimirov. who was editor of a scientific magazine, I socialized with foreign guests more actively, as a Novosti "guide." Yes, there was a period in my life when I tended to forgive the foreigners for their criminal naivete. Moreover. I imagined at a certain time in my career that those zmranmy (derogatory to rhyme with inosirantxi-iovcigncrs) I had to accompany in the USSR were exceptions, that the rest of the liberals and leftists abroad deserved respect. But after years with Novosti, arid hundreds of encounters with those foreigners. 1 changed my attitude to contempt and disgust.

Both the KGB and Agitprop know perfectly well about thissort of xenophobia among the NovosiPs staffers dealing with foreigners. and Til bet they share our feelings and encourage them for a purpose: it is easier to manipulate the foreigners with the help of foreigner- hating Novosti men. It isalsosafcr Feelings of contempt anrldkgnsi prevent Novosti staffers from being "contaminated" by the Western idcoloey (if such exists). Thus, xenophobia is a vital and ineviiahli* element of IDEOLOGIC Al SUBVERSION.

:.

:;:;.■

::;'':. .

9~-

54

A LOYAL AND DEDICATED STEPSON

l'The USSR grants the right of asylum to foreigners per- secuted for defending the interests of the working people and the cause ol peace* or For the participation in the

revolutionary and national liberation movement,"

(Soviet Constitution, Article J8)

In early 1968, the Central Committee of the Communist Party of West Bengal elected Bishnu Mukcrjce to be a resident at the High Party School of Ideology in Moscow. It was an honor and reward for its 57-year-old faithful son: it was the type of school at which the likes of Patrice Lumumba and Walter Ulrbicht had learned the principles of ideological subversion. Angola's Augustino Ncto went there, as did Afghanistan's Taraki, Zimbabwe's Nkomo. etc.. etc.

To Bishnu Mukerjee, who began life in an East Bengali village. Moscow was splendid. The hospitality of his Soviet comrades, the touching care of the Soviets towards their younger generation ("children are our future, the most privileged class in our classless society"), the world's best subway system (with its murals and monuments and slogans; a gallery, church and wax museum of Communism). A one-room apartment was thoughtfully provided hy the Soviet Central Committee, in a prefabricated block close tn the Exhibition oT Achievements of the People's Economy — a huge. open-air display of certain industrial and agricultural machinery built by victorious Soviet socialism within 50 years. Comrade Mukerjee confessed to his Soviet translators that It hrought him tears of delight, to think that it had all been done for the people.

Bishnu Mukerjee was not a snob. Although he understood the historical importance of his personality, (a secrei to the necessary conspiratorial regulations of the party), he was content that his ascetic life would lead to the just and progressive society that he and the masses would enjoy in his homelanrt after the revolution. Although he missed the spicy ecstasy of Bengali food, he ate his Soviet canned sardines in tomato sauce and eggplant "caviar" with staunch revolutionary fervor, sometimes washed down by a good glass of vodka. In the evenings, after classes, he had the pleasure of a television set. donated by the Trade Union Committee of Progress Publishing House There he worked occasionally in his cover job, as a translator of propaganda booklet* from Russian to Bengali, oral least pidgin English to Bengali, for his intensive Russian course had not had too much effect and a little help was always in order.

Bishnu Mukerjee had joined the party long ago. probably during the war, when British India and Soviet Russia were nominal allies. With partition. India was more sympathetic to Communists than

56 was Pakistan, and Mukcrjce drifted from Dacca to Calcutta. Belonging to the cause had helped him to overcome a personal disas- ter; his broken engagement with a girl from a wealthy Calcutta fami- ly. He had been uutuuky wiLh women all his lift, but his efforts on behalf of the party took most of his time and energy. At first he was a courier, taking the iusliuclions of the party committee, not to be trusted to the mails; then an agitatoi among students, paid by a leftist newspaper for which he did the odd spot of proofreading; finally a party administrator. There was maetically no time for marriage.

A rare moment of confusion had impinged upon his consciousness during a recent visit to a "closed "party shop in Red Squat e, light in front of Lenin's tomb. In a small hall, windows tightly cuitaincd, comrade Mukerjee was offered a modest choice of clothing from some crowded shelves, li was unlike a shop in Calcutta's Cliowiing- hee Road, where the assortment might have been a bit biuadei, certainly better displayed. Shy of trying things on, he selected a winter coat from East Germany, a pair of fur-lined rubber shoes from Poland, a conservatively tailored Finnish suit, and a fur hat, made in the USSR at a factory named alter Rosa Luxembourg. A sentry stood by the door, which was locked behind him.

In a couple of months, overwhelmed with gratitude for his Soviet hosts, comrade Mukerjee expressed his desire to celebrate the achievements of the country in articles for Soviet and foreign news- papers. A contact in the Central Committee's Department of South East Asia listened attentively and suggested that the appropriate place ior so noble an enterprise would be the Novosii Press Agency — it takes care to disseminate trie most truthful information about the USSR all around the world, and what is more, pays 10 to 15 rubles per page lor material of this sort by any author.

One may only speculate whether comrade Mukerjee entertained himself, en route to the Novosti office, with translations of Russian rubles into Indian rupees; and if he did. with what rate ol exchange. Notwithstanding, upon his arrival he became my problem. 1 was a junior editor with Novosti s South East Asia Department.

U was one ol those days in out monstrous propaganda cartel when all its little wheels and cogs tor some mysterious reason were running with the utmost friction and noise. It was a day when most of the senior bosses were "out tor a meeting," the traffic of propaganda stopping, for want Ot signatures. It was a day when a secretary, a charming girl, with Brezhnev's jy. or lower, was busy shopping for her expected illegitimate baby, causing ou rtrade union leader to pass a hat, to collect donations tor the future Soviet Citizen. It was a day when, having seen me every morning for five years, the sentry sent me home for my press card. It was probably one of those days when several influential Western newspapers approached our agency for

56

. -. : .

:•.;•■■

I, .

an "opinion poll" on how the Soviet people reacted to the latest statement of President Nixon.

1 was summoned to the office of the South East Asia boss and told to meet Mukerjee downstairs: "Don't bring that black ass here/*

The "black ass" was a small thin man with a pleasant open face. horn-framed spectacles, and a modest blue "Mao" jacket, buttoned to the throat. He held a rolled bundle of typewritten pages in one delicate dark hand, an optimistic smile (like that of an angel who has taken the wrong elevator), and with hts. other hand he held mine until every purpose of his visit had been explained. I knew that holding hands was common in India, and so did not withdraw as my col- leagues would have done. I expected the worst, hut whai I read sur- prised nief

All over the world the eyes of all oppressed people turn- ing today in Mnwnw Red Rtar*: of Kremlin with hope and expectation knowing that the long night of slavery, imperialism, colonialist oppression and racism will soon bf over The new era has already started — here in the Motherland ot Socialism, where all the dreams of man- kind are fulfilled. Now, that I have the honour to witness the happiness of this courageous nation, now only do 1 understand how vile and inhuman are the reactionary circles, in their futile efforts to distort the truth about the Soviet Union . . . A list of truths followed.

"Not bad. not bad at alL" J said to comrade Mukerjec, explaining that I do not make decisions to accept material, but that J would take it to the chief editor. Comrade Mukerjee would not let me go> inquiring about payment*; and copyrights. If the Mew York Time.1! reprinted the article, would he be paid by Novosti. or should he charge: the Times directly? Half an hour was required to get rid of him.

Upstairs in my boss's office, I received instructions to throw the article in the waste basket. With respect for the revolutionary past of comrade Mukerjee, my boss signed a slip of pa per for the accounting office, worth twenty rubles.

This did not discourage Mukerjee, In a week he returned with two more works of similar merit, bitterly complaining that he had been underpaid for his first and demanding cop iet of those foreign news- papers which had reprinted it. I took him to my boss's off ice, expect- ing never to see him again; but to my most acute surprise he returned beaming smiles, heartily shook my hand and thanked me for promo- ting his writings. A minute later my boss came with Mukerjee s pile, and, avoiding my eyes, told me ro "groom it up here and there." M ukerlee got 250 rubles, and I . who ultimately wrote his works, not a

Dedicated "stepsons" of Communism visiting Kremlin with the author.

57

■:•.;::'.:•.:,■

r.-

'X.-.

■■■•■

■

58 kopeck. He proved a prolificand persistent writer, though not exces- sively particular. He would describe the functions of a factory union without ever having visited one, supplying statistics from memory and imagination. leaving no references. It was my job to reconcile his facts and figure."; with those already officially published.

As the youngest editor and the only "active" orient ologist my fate was sealed Within two months I was losing weight, had become nervous, and contemplated sinister designs against comrade Mukerjee

The opportunity to avenge myself came suddenly. Our department treated a large group of "progressive" writers and journalists from Asia, Africa and Latin America to a little reception. As is customary, the guests talked themselves out, in praise of the Soviet Communist Party. The director of Novosti, in reply, modestly admitted that, indeed, the Soviet Union was the greatest, wealthiest, jus test and freest of countries, and, as it was also the most peaceful, it was always willing to help a national liberation struggle wherever it might occur. The guests clapped, and some young girts presented them with Lenin badges. The party retired to the **closed" dining room, where gallons of vodka were pumped into them. I acted as an interpreter for some of the Novosti director's jokes, fearing for my job if they did not elicit laughter, When we were filing into the dining hall, I noticed the lone- ly figure of the Indian admirer of Soviet freedom. He was clutching a fresh bouquet of typewritten pages. A dark demonic evil possessed

m:\

After official toast si he big bosses faded away, leaving the guest sin the capable hands of the junior staff. We knew our business perfectly well, and sang revolutionary songs, taught the words:

Our country is vast and free,

i don "/ know any other

Where a man can breathe so free ... ct cetera

J quietly assisted ii bottle of vodka in ii,s struggle for liberation, rinding some smoked salmon and a can of caviar for the other pocket, then hull' curried Mukerjee to the door. It would have been too cruel of me to leave him in the streets of Moscow in such a deca- dent state, so I drove him home, leaving father's license plates con- spicuously outside

Comrade Mukerjee 's apartment was, although I ndiani/ed, typical of bachelor's apartments everywhere: the stench of unwashed clothes, mountain of unwashed dishes in the k lichen sink, books on the floor, a little crowd of empty bottles under the desk; then a few distinctive features: an unflushed toilet, portraits of Marx and Brezhnev, and a smalt oval silver framed photograph of an Indian girl with large, clever Bengali eyes. His daughter?

t hesitaied briefly Wbr«e fault was it. after all, that comrade Mukerjee had turned into a parrot*' He mistook the pause for dis-

59

pleasure with the mess of his apartment, and smiled

'This, as you may see, is a temporary dwelling. In a year or two 111 be coming back to my homeland, a new and independent Bangla- desh!" "Yes," 1 said, to say something.

"But you should not think that we do not appreciate your hospita- lity and brotherly assistance. We'll never forget this, even when we come to power and build a glorious society, like yours . . ."

Mukerjee fell silent, and 1 worked over my plan Hi* apartment would be bugged, as were all apartments of comrade revolutionaries from foreign countries, but that did not mean anyone would be listening. To make sure that the conversation would be overheard, I reached for the telephone. The usual buz* started after a lag of only three seconds. To make sure I had someone's attention, I dialed my office number, and allowed five rings. The next stage was to deliver comrade Mukerjee into a state of inebriation still more advanced, and, from my cynical experience with "progressive** prostitutes, pro- voke him into anti-Soviet remarks,

"The Indian delegates complained today," said K "that we Soviets are too friendly to Indira Gandhi's government, and not attentive enough to the needs of the Communist Party of India.1'

"Oh. that's an old song; the split of CP1 was the beginning . . , undermining the anti-imperialist Iront,"

I thought that comrade M ukerjee was not yet drunk enough to run out of cliches. If he did not run out of cliches, I would have no end of his articles. Embracing him, in a brotherly way. I poured two more glasses. Mukerjee drank, and, pleased by my attention. showered me with names, dates and events. 1 learned that there were several Com- munist parties in East Pakistan (loo many, 1 thought, for one developing country), that the real Communists were only those who follow professor Ahmed, as opposed to the followers of AHaudin and Biswas: und God help the followers; of Mu hammed Toha and Abdul Huq, (he Maoists!

"We ore developing a strong pro -Moscow party, and we are able to establish ourselves as the strongest force in the universities. *

Alas, the volume of vod ka in comrade Mukerjee was not in inverse proportion to the amount of his dedication. I fell upon another tac- tic. Was the Soviet rote in East Pakistan greater than comrade Mukerjee implied? And. could 1 get him to talk about a subject secret enough that his discussing it would bring him fatally bad marks in school"?

"Okay, Bishnu," said I in my friendliest manner, "do you think that you East Pakistani Communists can bypass violence and terror on the road to independence and socialjustiee? Remember our histo- ry. For the purity of our Leninist norms we had to go through the

:; .

60

purifying fire- of civil war and purges. You think the Bengali Com- munists cart avoid this?"

"Avoid?" (and here he became dramatic). "Who says we need to avoid revolutionary terror? No, comrade, we must lead, control. channelize it! You cannot even imagine the ability of our proletariat and our revolutionaries to mobilize for a decisive armed struggle!4* (I could very well imagine that, somewhere in the villages and workers1 townships, the agitators had the red paint waiting to put hammers and sickles on the walls, and many tons of booklets pro- pagating class struggle and revolutionary violence, printed in the USSR, flown daily to the subcontinent in the diplomatic cargo of Aeroflot; I could imagine picture boxes with ammunition and Kalashnikov machine-guns.)

"Our propaganda cells operate in every university center/1 belaid, counting on his fingers "We have prepared and trained cad its of party administrators, we have military training for capable boys, we have prepared lists of all the opposition clement*. The brothci I v help of the Soviet Union and India will provide us with intci national recognition and ideological support, even at the United Nations." "And then everything will be tip-top?" 1 asked sarcastically, Mukerjee shook his long thin finger at me.

"I know what you are thinking about. Mo, we arc not Lhai naive, We understand that political independence is only the fit si pan of the struggle. Resistance of subversive and imperialist elements is taken into consideration. Thanks to your people and your consultants we have a vast re education program r . , and a plan to get tid of the enemies ol the people."

11 Re education programs, ch?" "Yes, comrade! Labor turned monkey into man." "Labor camps, then/*

"Call it labor camps,*" Mukerjee said peacefully, "And what about the listed 'enemies'?"

"Historically inevitable, ".sighed Mukerjee, and made an interna- tionally known gesture of a finger pulling a trigger of a machine-gun. "Well, "said I, "111 drink to that!" I filled the glasses to their brims, pushed one into my comrade's hand, and toasted a fiee and indepen- dent Bangladesh. 1 tossed vodka into myself, almost heating the hiss of the liquor on the red coals inside rac In a moment, the flame caught up, burning the remnants of my human corn passion. Another toast to the unity of progressive mankind, one tu fallen comrades. Until Mukerjee began to cry. lie held my hand, as if ready 10 confess. In a mumble he related to mc that when he was a student he was rejected by that lovely girl, that one with the clevei eyes, His parents tried to arrange the marriage, but his caste was no match for hers. In revenge, he insisted that one of his comrades, a militant

61

terrorist, "take care" of the girl. She was found dead, and raped, in the dormitory. Comrade M ukerjee lost his potency from the shock: he had become a homosexual.

I took his hand off my zipper, poured the rest of the vodka from the bottle directly into his throat, and left the liberator of Wen gal unconscious on the carpet.

The next morning I felt as if I had spent the night in a garbage can. I stood under the shower much longer than usual, trying to wash away the memories, f did not know whether 1 should be pleased at letting Mukerjee say what he was not supposed to say, thus getting rid of him and his articles for good, or whether I should start to worry about myself, for the KCB might as easily get curious about my curiosity. To be sure. I called Vadim Smimov, my one and only contact within the "highest seat of power, "the Central Committee. We met during the lunch break in the garden in front of the CC buitd- ing in Nomina square. The day, by contrast to my mood, was sunny and warm.

"Old man," said I, "your advise and maybe your help is needed. You know, perhaps, a Bengali Communist called Bishnu Mukerjee, a student at the High Party School."

"SoT

"1 have made htm drunk at a Novosti banquet, and then boozed with him till three in the morning at his apartment, discussing poli- tics."

"Well," said the apparatchik, "let's hope the news does not reach Makhotin. You really should know better. And what do you warn from me?"

"I am afraid 1 made Mukerjee talk too much, and supposing his apartment k bitted . - ."

"Mot supposing, it is bugged. So, what did he say?"

"Well, 1 guess you can verify what i say with the K<JB, but 1 can assure you, that without any provocation on my part , , ."

"Of course," smirked Smimov.

". . . Only journalistic curiosity. The damn Bengali told me that a socialist revolution is being brewed up in East Pakistan with our help.*'

"So what?"

"So thtn.'1 And I told him ihe whole Ktory: East Pakistani radicals trained in K.GB schools, lists of "enemies of the people" to be execu- ted after a leftist coup, invasion of Indian armed forces with our encouragement, and ideological and political "protection" of the newly-born "People's Republic of Bangladesh" in the United Nations and through a world-wide propaganda campaign orchestra-

62

ted by Agitprop. I also mentioned the homosexuality of the old revolutionary.

"Holy cow, "said the rcferenl-indologist, "this Mukerjee of yours . . sorry, of ours . . has a great imagination. How much you poured into him?11 he asked indifferently, but I noticed a spark of interest in his eyes,

"Oh, about 500 grams, not more,"

"Well, no wonder he had sick ideas. You Forget that Asians cannot hold liquor. . , Look, I suggest you forget the whole damn thing. Buy him a drink next time he comes to Novosti, make friends, but keep away from your amateur intelligence tricks and drunken politics; that is, if you want to keep your Novosti job." (He stressed ,s Novos- ti"). *'And don't think much about Mukerjec's sick fiction."

"What if the KGB starts thinking about it? They must be working on the tapes by now."

"So what? If they approach you, give them some psychological baloney, as you can do, Or simply tell them the truth. The rest is up to you . . . you know , , ," "Okay." "And call me if you get into a real mess."

"Right-o/1

******

Bishnu Mukcrjcc never came again to Novosti with his opuses. Instead one day a pleasant voice on the phone asked me to meet comrade Major Sidorov oi the KGB in room 935, hotel Moskva, for an informal talk.

To (he commit tee of slate security of the Soviet of Ministers of the Union of the Soviet Socialist Republics from Citizen of the USSR Bezmenov, Yuri Alexandrovuh, horn 1939, member of CPSU, card number .... presently an editor of Novosti Press Agency, depart- ment . . .

"Welt, you do not have to be that formal/' said Major Sidorov tenderly, looking over my shoulder at what 1 had written. Just use your own words. And the main point should be your own conscious decision to cooperate with the Committee Then, perhaps, a couple of technicalities . . ,"

Eduard Jvanovich Sidorov was very polite. Hegrceted me warmly, but without familiarity. Not a hint of blackmail, no mentioning of the Mukerjee affair, He said the Committee knows and values my experience in treating foreign guests of Novosti. Understanding, good hearted ness, humanism, respectability — those were the features Major Sidorov was trying to express on his rat-like face. One cannot, using all his imagination, associate this modest man with

63

some 00 odd millions of my countrymen (the entire populations of two European nations) shot, frozen, beaten, tortured to death by "the Committee." And while he was talking to me in a soft voice, somewhere beyond the windows of the luxury hotel Moskva, beyond the barbed wire borders of my Motherland, the colleagues of com rade Sidorov went on to shoot, poison, rape, subvert, sabotage, brainwash, blackmail, corrupt and do many other Impolite things in the name of the most just new society in the history of mankind, and to provide for the security of its leaders — n small group of aged men, fat and flabby from overeating and alcohol, often senile, but deter- mined and cruel, who parasite on my nation and call themselves Mser vauts of the people.*1 Major Sidorov wanted me to sign a document, certifying myself as an accomplice.

"AH light," i said agreeably, "I'll write it in my own words." And on a clean sheet of paper I wrotci

f, Yuri AleMindrovkli Dezmenov. volunteer to help the KGB in surveillance of foreign visitors of A PN and foreign media representa- tives residing in my country . . ,

"Yes, this is belter, but still rather artificial. The words should corner fjoui your heart," said the Major,

From my heart;

/ nave un obligation (o report my observations on foreigners, sus- pected on un v uctions harmful to my country, personally to comrade Sidorov in regular »v tit ten reports. Signed . . .

"Heic yuu should take an assumed name, to protect your privacy/' said Sidorov with an apologetic smile.

"Oh, that's okay with me. HI take the name of 'Musafirov,"

"Sounds like a Tartar."*

"Aiabic, Oh. by the way, what do I write about remuneration"?"

"Eh, don"t write anything yet. But to be clear, the Committee will cover all your expenses while treating a foreigner, when you provide us with a dctaikd bill."

"Oh, l sec," I said, showing mild disappointment, and signed the

document: ^Musnfirov. "

"1 wonder what does the name mean,'* said Sidorov, folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket rather disrespectfully,

"Musafir,4" I said, "means rider from "safar,"

I was now working part-time (or the KGB. I hoped I will be smart enough to take the KGB for a ride.

..-.'..'. ■..

v>.v.-..:v,i.^J.v.:-;'.v;--v:-i :■.-,■/;..■;■•■>.:

Tomas Schuman with a copy of 'Look** magazine he helped to produce as a Novosti manipulator. Below: Look* s idea of "Russian fashions4 inspired by Novosti manipulators. 'All is fine in Soviet Russia after 50 years of Communism* ■■ chat was the message.

,■ ■ •

60

A RIDE FOR LOOK MAGAZINE

On June 2, 1967, I was summoned by the directorial board of Novosti, who entrusted me with *ka very responsible job ,% A large group of Look staff were in the country on a special mission, to pre- pare material for a special issue dedicated to the 50th anniversary of Soviet power. They were actually paying Novosti, according to contract, for the "services" we would provide.

My immediate boss during the trip was appointed from the section for English-speaking countries. He was Valeri Neyev, a lail sleepy looking fellow of some forty years. He spoke tittle of anything, inclu- ding English, but had been quickly promoted because he was only working part-time; his other responsibility was to the KGB* I was to report all details to him, with a written report at the end of the trip, in triplicate.

On the same day, 1 was introduced 10 a group of good-looking, extremely sociable Americans. They sat in the National restaurant, discussing their trip into the second hour of their wail for chicken-a- la-Kiev, I thought that ^normalization" had done wonders for their patience,

My future observes was Philip Harrington, middle-aged, midd te- sted, and with a face that looked loo intelligent for a photographer, at least by Novosti standards. He proved to be, as well, very demand- ing, capricious nervous, unintuitive and unobservant. From the first day he asked too much of the Soviet bureaucracy, expecting service for money as if he were in Europe, or Asia, or Africa. He was as inconsistent as a teenage girl in love, presenting me with a list of places and persons to photograph that would take the KGB weeks to approve; the next day forgetting his list to insist upon spontaneity. I assumed that he had been told always to ask for more than you want, leaving a margin tor diplomatic retreat, This would be the wrong approach; in Soviet Russia you take what you can get.

Near Volgograd (formerly Stalingrad), despite my poiite recom- mendation that he tarry lor a while, he insisted upon taking forbid- den panoramic pictures from the Mamayev Hill. How could I hint to him that a KGB shadow was approaching?

Near the Volgogrand Refinery he insisted upon stopping the taxi to photograph a long and rusted barbed wire fence. Didn't he realize that our driver whs a KGB informer?

In Simpheropol, lie very nearly revived the Cold War by photo- graphing some high transmission lines. He would not even wait for the driver to go for a pee, I he KGB would conclude that he was tracing the inland roads and utility lines to spy and subversion camps near Simpheropol, where international terrorists are trained.

in Yalta, he photographed a highway clover-leaf and a bus station. Was he trying to pick out foreign faces that might be from the spy

':

66

camps, on holiday in Yalta toscicw Russian giili (a standard reward for loyalty to Moscow)? Surely lie should know that the Third World's liberators are transported only at night.

If Philip was wiih die CIA. they forgot to luiiu liiui. No mil tier How many clues I would offer, he failed to sec that I was a sympathi- zer, lie wasted his film, on colored stones, crabs under waici and children swimming, lie didn't even bother with the fuieigu-luoking man, past the barbed wire, further up the beach, and he was genuine- ly surprised when we were both told to go look foi ci a bs elsewhere,

I wanted to avoid the "closed" places, but alio to avoid pictured of smiling milkmaids enjoying the happy Soviet life. Doing unimagina- ble dirty tricks, playing hide-and-seek with lucal Paity and KGB administrators, I managed to miss the "typical'1 collective farms and wojKcis' houses, the "museums of the icvolution," all of them designed loi loicign tourists. Still, I icinembeied the instructions, went not too far from the official route, and foi my own protection made notes of all of Mr. Harrington's doubtful pictures.

In Volgograd, lie wasted scveial ioIJs of film on the huge steel and concrete statue of the full-bosomed Muthci Russia, who stands as high as the Statue of Liberty, like a mud woman with uu overdose of hormones brandishing a sword for the Soviet fencing team. At the hydro station, a hundred pictures of a tujbiuc hall, ihiough the railings of an overhead bridge. In Zaporozhye, sparks flying fioui a smelter. And in the only advanced collective farm I failed to avoid, a smiling milkmaid. Comrade Brezhnev would shed his eyebrows if he were there to sec that she was milking the cow with her hands, some- thing they don't do in the World's Most Advanced Country. Fort ir- ately she kept her hands out of the frame.

In Arteck we visited a "special" children's resort, where pink- cheecked pioneers had been especially selected to pose. We were in a ""super modern" building: I failed to bring Mr, Harrington's atten- tion to deep cracks on the wall, an interesting detail as the building was on a steep grade of clay, overlooking the [Hack Sea, in an aica which experiences hca>y rains.

Alt in all, Mr. Harrington did not correspond at alho the image of the "sinister imperialist stooge, sniffing at Soviet garbage cans for defamatory material about our glorious country," Neither the truth, nor the garbage, bothered his imagination.

On the Black Sea, I pointed out an old man, in faded military trousers, a torn lee-shirt and a straw hat tilted back a -la-Krushchev; his crutches leaned against a cement urn, full of garbage: on his lap a newspaper with his meal: a sliced pickled cucumber, a piece of rye bread, and several slices of cheap bologna kielbasu. In his trouscr pocket I could we the empty end of a mickey of vodka. The newspa- per's pacifist headline was, "It should not ever be repeated in the

67

Propaganda monument in Volgograd (above) as presented by the *Look" magazine; Schuman (centre) with group of American guests, including Look's photographer Phillip Harrington, who took the pictures for the propaganda issue of Look magazine.

' ■-'.■■^.■"'•■■'■X-.':-/:---.:i'

..

:

. •

1

68

world: Soviet veterans or war say."

"Hurry up, I said carefully, take itl" Philip smiled, and clicked one of his cameras a couple of times. But before he had rewound his camera, the ugliest of Russia's subjects, in gray gaberdine and white shirt sleeves, sandals and socks full of sand, had crept up behind us, tapping me on the shoulder with a rolled newspaper,

"Young man, yon are the translator with the foreigner? Are you not?"

"I am,"

"Why then do you allow him to make fun and defameour people?""

"Citizent" said U sternly, "Citizen! You will not obstruct the work. You will address all your questions to my superior. Is that clear?"

The informer was taken aback; he hissed, but did not press any further. He escorted us to our hotel, twenty feet to the side, disap- pearing into its side entrance with the air of a busvand decisive man.

After lunch, Philip went to his room to change film and take a shower. 1 was approached by a babushka -dezhurnaya (old lady sen- try), the key lady of the floor. Pursing her lips sadly, babushka told me please to drop into roam number 20, and talk to comrade. Com- rade turned out to be an operatlvny rabotnik. a KGB supervisor of the local Intourist branch, tall, ugly and too young to look fearsome: he was trying to play a bit part in a Soviet spy movie. After half an hour of pregnant pauses, he asked,

"Why is the American so interested in untypical elements of Soviet life? Why doesn't he take the photographs advised by Intourist?"

I tried to be very polite to this young protector of my nation's oppressors.

"Being a Novosti editor. 1 am well aware what is good and what is Dad for Soviet propaganda. Moreover, so do my superiors, who are being instructed by the Central Committee's Department of Agita- lion and Propaganda. All the film will be "edited "by our people, and all the untypical pictures will he replaced by typical ones. For doubt- ful cases. I keep a record of every single shot.**

1 showed him my notebook to prove my point, but that was a mistake, as it was in a code of my own devising He demanded an immediate transcription.

"Sorry," I said, with utmost compassion, "that I cannot do. I am subordinated directly and only to my KGB contact. Major Neyev* and I submit my reports directly and only rn him/"

We parted open enemies. He promised to report me jo Moscow, recommending that [ never be permitted to work with foreigners again. I promised to tell Moscow about the ob.strucfionof the Yalta KGB. I know not whether he ever made good on his threat, but I know that I did on mine: five pages in three copies the moment I returned to Moscow.

69

In the mood that I was left with, 1 spoiled my relationship with Mr. Harrington. This was done over dinner. He had noticed my encoun- ter with a stranger that morning. He did not want any trouble with the KGB, and said that I should know better what nor to do. I should concentrate my efforts on arranging "interest ing visi island "interest- ing objects" for photography.

"We have rather different ideas about what is interesting." I said,

"1 mean interesting from the point of view of American readers and the editors of Look magazine."

"It is difficult for me to see what this might he,'1 1 continued. "I sel- dom get a chance to know either."

"You see.1' Mr. Harrington said in an irritated lone, "the manage- ment of Look magazine is .spend ing a fortune for this trip, including the expense of an interpreter, whether we nceri one or not . . ."

"So what?"

"So, Intourist and Novosti charge us for certain services, which we agree to pay for. they agree to render, nnd we seldom see ..."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes. And what makes me mad is, that we a re doing the job. paying our money, basically in the interests of your country, to show' the achievements Of the Inst fifty yrars. in a truthful way."

"Mr. Harrington.14 1 tried to he calm w't is not I who establish the rate of charges for Intourist or Novosti or decide what volume of services is to be rendered."

"Maybe, but is you who arranges boring visits to kindergartens and museums. How many museums and kindergartens can one photograph?"

"Aeain you are wrong. Mr Harrington. The programs and routes are established at a higher level. I only show you around. If you do not want boring visits to museums, you, or your management, should bargain with my bosses before you pay money. You Amer- icans are supposed to be good bargainers. Don't blame me for the spinelessness of your bosses. My duty \k to implement on the local level whal you have decided with my bosses. That sail."

"Well, maybe you arc right. "said Philip a tone lower, "but can't you understand what I want'' You are a journalist. Try to see mv point and understand that my editor expects; work up to the standards of the magjr/me "

"Try to see my point.. Mr Harrington. The management of A PN expects me to show you our lnr.hi elements,' however boring they seem to you. What can 1 do? Use me the way you see fit, but remem- ber, my bosses are in Moscow "

"'Yes, I sec/' said Philip in an almost friendly tone, btti try to be more active, protect me from those damn propaganda visits, from embarrasing situations. Show me more."

70

"Philip," F said in my friendliest voice, "believe me, I am trying to show you much more than is prescribed by our propaganda. 1 am desperate to show you my country in a true light f the way wc Russians see our land.*

"Thank you. But ] would prefer to photograph your country the way Americans can understand it, You probably know that our government is actively following the policy of "normalisation. " Wc want to follow this policy ioo« although our preaa is less dependent upon government policy. We try to understand your problems as a growing nation, buiT believe me, neither I nor the editors of Look magazine want fights with APN or KGB over onc-lcggcd old inva- lids. Do you follow me?11

"Yes,** I said after a thoughtful pause, ''yes, Mr. Harrington. But as a journalist, 1 understand, I hope, that an honest journalist must be interested in everything: turbines, statues, war veterans . . , pcihap* even high voltage utility lines and country roads, which, as you per- fectly know, are 'not Tor foreigners* eyes!"

I caught the eye of our waitress and asked for 200 grams of vudka, which came much faatcr than the food. I explained that 1 was paying for the vodka out of my own pocket, not from the Look magazine account, Mr. Harrington seemed to be offended.

"t am sorry to sound so demanding, but as you may know. I spent my first two weeks here with your colleague, Mr. Ncycv. He itemed to me more active, eflieient and serious about his job. lie was much more helpful than you,"

"Philip," 1 said, swallowing vodka and pride "yuu aie not very observant. You miss a very important point: Ncyev is ulder and higher, 1 do not have as many 'connections*/*

"I have noticed that," said Philip, "but I also feci intuitively that your attitude towards your duty indifferent. You arc less dedicated. M

"Mr. Harrington." I sipped some more vodka, risking my career, and even my freedom. "1 must explain to you, that my and Mr. Ncycv'a 'duty' is not lo help you do honest work, but to prevent you from seeing the real face of my land, of which out leaders are ashamed, for reasons beyond our discussion. It is my leaders, not me, who don't give a shit for the 'normalization* so dcai lo your presi- dent's heart. All they want is your money, and having that, they use you as a vehicle for our propaganda. I hope you'll understand this some day, before it is too late."

There was a long pause, after which M», Hai i iugluii said hcsiian- ly, "Don't you think that you interpret the intentions atid actions of your government rather subjectively and superficially?"

(He is a 'leftist'! I thought with horror, why have I loosened my tongue with this whore'?)

**As 1 say. my work is to obstruct your work, by pumping piupa-

71

ganda into your cameras, and also . r , (I paused hopelessly) by keep- ing track of all your 'secret* photographs for the KGB — all those stupid bridges, power lines, bus stations, military installations, etc., so that your film can be "exposed my mistake* before you cross the USSR, border. Don't you know what? Does your CIA not tell you ihese things before you come here? We are all controlled by the KGB! There are no private tourist guides or interpreters!"

MYesT I know all that. Don't take me for a total fool," said Philip peacefully, "but please, don't try to scare me. I am not so sure that your KGB is as much worried about my 'secret' picture-taking as some over-7ealous translators like you." "1 would not be so sure."

"The main thing is: does Novosti Press Agency want Look maga- zine to publish the 50th Jubilee material?" "Only that, which Agitprop wants: and in the way they want" "Okay, suppose you are right. But wanting that, they would never bother exposing my films. They need it to be safe more than we do. Besides, if they steal my film, they won't be able to develop it. It's a secret Kodak process made only by US companies." "Oh,Mr. Harrington, you grossly underestimate our K.GB!" "Oh, Mr. Bezmenov. you grossly underestimate our Kodak I" There was no sense in arguing any further. We sat and stared at each other in disgust, vodka glasses raised above dirty dishes

"Sorry I am in such a fighting mood tonight." I said, "it's because of thai obnoxious stranger in the park, the KGB." "Yes, 1 see." said Philip, as though he saw. "But if I were you. 1 would still pass some of the film to some other American, who leaves the USSR separately. You never know.'*

"Okay. Ill do that," said Philip in the voice of one who was tired or arguing.

We walked to our respective deluxe and first-class suites in the Yalta Intourist Hotel, paid for out of the I note magazine account.

After all the stomping of military parades and peoples demon- strations were over, after the schizophrenic boosting with phallus- like rockets in Red Square, after the Soviet propagandists had finished bullshitting and the Western commentators' respectful gossipping

ui'hv done. a don t me til of the fallowing, rontent appeared on myde&k a I Novosti'

Excerpt from APN Forty Bureau's met ling resolution. The subject under discussion (on agendo):

Report nn the results of propaganda campaign dedicated to the *i01h anniversary of the Great October Socialist Revolution.

:-:v::.-:V:V.'-,;:::i:--.\y ■•.

fl\.-:'. ;.

72

For excellent work in the process of thejubilee campaign, particularly with foreign organs of mass media — namely preparation of press materials truthfully reflecting the glorious achievements of our Motherland in an historic- ally short period of time, and for successful publication of these materials in the organs of foreign mass media, the Party Bureau recommends that the management of APN compliment (with the proper registration in personnel hies) the following employees of APN:

BEZMENOV, Yuri Alexandrovich. — for preparation of photographic material and accompanying of a corres- pondent of Look magazine (USA) In the lower right-hand corner of J he pa per then; was a red pencil remark, in the handwriting of our local Party boss: 'Com. Bezm&nov! Drop into Union office. There '«: a inurki ticket to Italy for Novem lie i . '

With pounding heart 1 ran to our "closed" library, where secret foreign periodicals are kept (such as Time, Life, Playboy, Popular Mechanics. The New York Times. Worker's Daily, Morning Star, L'Humanile. Patriot, Aka-Hata). After years of loyal work for Novosti and a trip ahmad. and after 1 had been admitted aa a mem- ber of the Communist Party of the USSR, 1 had finally been given a "permit" allowing me limited access to such material. Hurriedly 1 filled in a request form and in fifteen minutes had a copy of Look maga?ine in my hands.

Above a background of Red Square, the St. Basil Cathedral, and the tasteless Sugar-cube of the Rossia Hotel, there were the following

headlines:

50 YEARS AFTFR THF REVOLUTION THAT CHANGED THE WORLD

— The new freedoms

— Fear of China

— Upheaval in education

— A taste of profit —■ Siberia since Siftlin

— How we look to them

— Bikinis, ballerinas, blinis

— An active issue on RUSSIA TODAY

I opened the magazine to the lead article. The first few lines

smelled of our propaganda morgue. I re-read the lines many times,

trying to convince myself that I was misunderstanding something!

that perhaps 1 did not eatch the meaning of some expression.

"It works. Ponderously, fitfully, unevenly. But 50 year*

after the revolution that changed the world forever, the

system it fostered \vhee7es with life. We strain to hear the

I

!

\

\

,*■■'

s*

^

73

<>i

&ze&§&8e

rt.L<*

ft*"

m- Ifahv

goriest democratic election were held in the Soviet Union >^ / today— involving legitimate alternatives, sufficient time \ and opportunity for their ex posure and the assurance thai those elected would serve—the Communist party would win. This is not speculation. It is a conclusion based on on-the-spot observation and interviews by ten Look editors, photographers whose journeys through the Soviet Union for thie issue totaled more than a year.

Leonard Cross in the "Look". Did not he know that there is only ONE party in the USSR? Did he really believe, that my PEOPLE would vole to power the Party, that mur- dered some 66 millions of my countrymen?

74

m***

utf*

,:&

..■•^

•>-

\M*

^.iSot*>'M"":.-v,i:'1','".rr.

l%rt^I^^f

^

At*

,^-'.

Li''

c*^

^

(S the dossier legitimate or fake? Was there collaboration, and, if so, how many Allies* jittzens were Nazi bedfellows? If it all soure

This Is *|mt Mr.Gross write* today. I have a better questi- oji for the literary critic; "How many US citizens ARE Communist bedfellows?"

75

sounds of discord and seize on every setback; but it's time to ponder some disconcerting realities. Crumps there are, and struggles — bitter struggles fought by angry, frustra- ted men. Yet, implausible as it seems to us, most Soviet citizens think they have a good thing going for them. They feel safe. (?) They don't worry about hunger or lone- liness or calamity. Raised in a controlled environment, they are without objective measured ut by their own meager reckoning of what constitutes freedom, most of them now feel free. POLITICAL TERROR HAS SHRIVELLED. The indices by which men everywhere gauge progress are rising. To the average Soviet citizen, no conceivable space spectacular planned lor the jubilee year could surpass the importance of what is happening on earth . . ." Had the Americans gone cuckoo?

"If an honest democratic election were held in the Soviet Union today — involving legitimate alternatives, suffi- cient time and opportunity for their exposure and the assurance that those elected would serve — the Commu- nist party would win. This is not speculation. It is a con- clusion based on on-the-spot observations and interviews by ten Look editors and photographers whose journeys through the Soviet Union for this issue totalled more than a year," This was an insult to the intelligence of my countrymen. Official facts ran through the issue, without accreditation. Captions tasted of the Novosti kitchen, A fabricated Novostt public opinion poll was placed beside a real American one to show that Russians know more about the United States than Americans know about Russia. A Soviet-American mountaineering team jointly climbed Mount Lenin, symbolizing "normalization.1* American fur fashions were exhibited on Soviet models, as if they were available in the Soviet Union, They posed before religious monuments in flagrant dis- respect. Vodka, caviar, blini and sturgeon were depicted almost as typical fare. Dissidents were said to disagree a bout means only, never ends. And. for balance, it was admitted that the KGB does sometimes engage in harmless misehiefubro&d (only): a one-page article men- tioned this, without the aid of pictures.

I had thought this sort of operation was possible only in India and some African countries. A black mood came over me. I needed the trip to Italy.

76 NO BIRDS WITH TWO STONES

The fifth of May is one of ihose holidays in the Soviet Union when everyone works, but the calendar is marked "Day of the Soviet Press," to honor "the most truthful in the world." At about 7 p.m. on this day, in (968, 1 had Mr. Mohan Kumaramangalam to supper a l state expense. As a director of Air India and an old friend and fellow traveller,1 he merited an Intourm restaurant, with bright camteta li- ra* and marble columns, rather as if the League of Nations had been converted into a railway station.

On our table, in a cut-glass collective grave, lay several rhnusand unborn beluga, decorated with a flag of the Republic of India. Around them, bottles of mineral water, cognac and Soviet cham- pagne phe best of the world") observed a minute of silence. Some- where in the depths of a noisy kitchen, an unfortunate chicken pre- pared to meet us *a-la-Kicv." A twenty-piece orchestra conspired to inhibit our digestion, while a worn-out lady singer, and her three chins, reported that Moscow is the best city in the world.

A glass of cognac was poured, for several purposes- towelcomethe guest to the USSR, to anticipate his visit to the Soviet Asian repub- lics, to celebrate the cultural achievements of the Soviet Asian repub lies, in expectation of the book which the guest had promised to write about the cultural achievements of the Soviet Asian republics, and to toast the co-operation and friendship of the peoples of India and the USSR. By way of introducing myself. I lold Mr Kumaramangalam that my own childhood was spent in Kazakhstan during the Great Patriotic War f World War II to Western readers) while my father, later an officer of the General Staf. defended the Motherland eke- where. 1 was glad that I would accompany our guest to the land of mv childhood,

Mr. Kumaramangalam responded that his fife was also related to war. inasmuch as his brother was a general and Chief-of-Staff of (he Indian Army.

I remarked that my life, character and ideology were strongly in- fluenced by !he ascetic military spirit (it was a gross lie). Moreover, after I graduated from secondary school my father insisted that ! join the Army Academy and become an officer, a career that until recent- ly had been the dream of every Soviet youth (another lie).

Mr. Kumaramangalam responded that in his family the military spirit wasn't very popular.

77

After two or three more such exchanges I asked who was more important in his family, the Chief-of-Staff or Ihe director of Air India? Could Mohan Kumaramangalam influence his brother or vice versa?

"Eeeh ... it is difficult to say. In India, as you probably know, the system is different. The military traditionally stays out of politics, and, as a matter of fact, so should the civil service."

"Oh yes, that is the British tradition, if 1 am right, but in several former British colonies the military have played a rather active role in politics. Can they not rule if they wish?"

"In India, it is highly improbable.1'

So f changed the subject, and we discussed the route of our future trip. Mr, Kumaramangalam was most interested in Samarkand and Bukhara, but was not unwilling to inspect irrigation ditches in (l7be- kistan and Turkmenia. The dinner passed in such a "warm and cordial atmosphere of mutual understanding" that it was hard to say, after cafe xiacee. whether that understanding, on the part of our guest, extended to the ways in which we planned to use him.

My Novosti boss was pleased that Mohan Kumaramangalam would indeed write a book on the "achievements of the USSR Asian republics under socialism.'1 My KGB contact. Eduarrf Sid orov, con- tinued to brief me.

The next morning I reported to Novosti s accounting office, to the person of a very solid lady, armed with a cash register and bunkered within walls of fat ledger books. I carried, triumphantly, a piece of paper bearing the following remarks (which 1 had typed myself):

TO THE DIRECTORATE OF NOVOSTI PRESS AGENCY FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF SOUTH EAST ASIA

A member of ihe directorial board of Air India, Mr. Kumaramangalam, has just completed his stay in Mos- cow by the invitation of ihe Chamber of Commerce of the USSR. A progressive political and social personality of India, Mr. Kumaramangalam expressed his willingness to write a series of articles on Soviet-Indian technical co-operation, and, after completion of his talks with the Soviet trade experts, to make a trip to Soviet Central Asia for the purpose of writing a book on theeconomiral development of our Asian republics under Soviet power.

The department of South East Asia of APN considers it useful for our work in India to arrange such a trip for a period of two weeks, visiting: Sochi. Tbilisi. Ashkaha- bad, Tashkent, Samarkand and Moscow

We request your sanction to finance the trip by the "deluxe1" class for the guest, and "tourist" class for the

.. I

78

guide-interpreter, comrade Y, Bczmenov, an editor of our department.

Also we request to pay the royalties from our fund for the articles, written by Mr Kumaramangalam for APN,

to be redirected exclusively for Indian newspapers Senior editor V. Makhotin Chief Editor V. Pushkov

It was further embroidered with the signatures and comments of sundry Novosti bosses: "recommended," "approved," "please pay," etc, I signed in the appropriate book, adding Mr. Kumaramanfta- iam's name in devanagari characters for authenticity; the lady pulled the book away impatiently, and handed me a heavy envelope, into which she had already inserted our guesfs "royalty." With the same magic paper I ran to the third floor to arrange with the financial director such requisites as coupons for taxis, air tickets and hotel bookings, some two hours' work. Then back to my section to deliver the envelope to my immediate boss, comrade Makhotin, End of stage one.

Stage two began two hours later in the VIP lounge of one of the best restaurants in Moscow, the Aragvi, with its Georgian-Caucasian food. Comrade Mokhotin, who spoke English fluently, did the talking, while I enjoyed the chicken "Tabatw" with a dry Georgian wine. Part way through the meal, comrade Makhotin casually pro- duced the envelope, and joked, "petty cash for the road. "The guest pocketed the envelope, and continued to discuss details of the trip without any increase in enthusiasm, diplomatically avoiding promi- ses about the contents of his book. I drank, and meditated, how wonderful it would be if all the "progressive" whores visiting my country could behave as non-obligingly. The cat-and-mouse game ended with a diplomatic formula, that the contents of Mr. Kumara- manga lam's book would depend on many things; comrade Makho- tin gave me the cheerful glance ofa KGB interroaatorand concluded that, indeed, a lot would depend on the diligence of the guide-transla- tor.

J was ready, willingand able to do anything lopreventthe publica- tion ofa book of sweet lies about m> country under the name of so pleasant and clever an Indian, and toasted my boss's remark.

Mr. K u ma ra manga lam enjoyed his visit to the historical monu- ments of Samarkand and Bukhara, Ashkabad and Tbilisi; we avoided most of the "dezJiurni" (cliche) attractions, such as**typical and average1' collective farms and kindergarten, through the judi- cious scheduling of Mr. K u m a ra manga lam's headaches and those of his wife. Comrade Makhotin was happy, for our guest continued to promise to write his book. 1 was delighted to spend two weeks away

H:

-i :

* '■■

« - ;

i ■■::

'•\v-v

' ' :- - ■ ■■■-■■■■:

79

from Novosti. Only comrade Sidorov was unhappy, with the follow ing report from mc:

1, Influence of Kum&ramangalam on the military in India, according to him, is negligible. Relations with brother. General Kumaromangalam, cordial, but influ ence — unspecified.

2. Purchase of Soviet-made jct-Lincrs by Air India, according to guest , depends only slightly on his personal decision. Last word will be after the technical experts, boaid or directors and Indian mass media have had their say. It was recommended to arrange free exhibition tours of "*I1 vushui" and "Tupolev" planes in India for selected groups of journalists and public figures. During trip with- in Soviet Uuiuii the performance of some Soviet planes un domestic ah lines were far from satisfactory, according to guest,

3, Personal shortcomings and weaknesses of the guest are negligible. He is happily ntaiiicd and moderate with alcohol. His financial status is too secure to make him interested in APN royalties already received. Discussing the possible publication of his book on USSR., five-digits sums uf money weie mentioned. Desire to become famous writer — negligible. The RGB did not leave Mr. Kunjaramaugalam alone, despite the pessimism of my report. The courtship continued in New Delhi, when 1 arrived there in 1969. The Soviet tiade mission organized a "show flight," with plenty to drink, but it did not help, in one of the maior Indian newspapers ilieie appealed a businesslike icport* comparing the technical data of the llyushin, the American-made Boeing and British-made YC-IO. It appeared that the Soviet aircraft consumed much more fuel, used longer runways, cieulcd muic exhaust pollution, made more noise and was not as well suund- insulaied as Us competitors. In addition, it slap- lauded. "The Soviet planes may be perfect as bombers* but surely they are lousy as passenger planes," the report concluded.

The Soviet trade mission was furious; but Aii India still didn't buy Soviet planes. I was secretly pleased that Indian "democracy'" had worked, and that the path to socialism theie had been made juit a little longer.

AS for Mr. Kumaramangalam, he continued to be harassed by the KGB and Novosti until he died in a mysterious plane crash some seven years later,

30

Two famous Indians who were targeted by the APN-KGB for ideological "analysis": Mohan Kuraaramangalam (ahov«)T and Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (below).

& ■:#

HI

IN THE NAME OF PEACE

At about 4 p.m., when I had almost finished my daily marathon around the corridors of Novosti, and was meditating over a pile of "closed"' TAS5 dispatches, news meant only for trusted eyes, my telephone jang demanding!}'.

1 1 was comrade Sidorov. He informed me, in his usual syrup-and- poison voice, that he wanted to meet me at about live, somewhere between Pushkin Square and Petrovka. As I approached the place of rendezvous, Eduard Ivanovitch inquired about thestateofmy health and disposition, and whether I was tired by my daily routine.

Defense Minister Swaran Singh of India was coming to Moscow with a large entourage of military experts, both in uniform and out. Comrade Sidorov wanted me to accompany the delegation as a "reporter for Novosti. Comrade Stdorov could not hope that I would be assigned to the job by Novosti, and I did not want to ask him who would be behind me. I o let him have it all his way was strict- ly against my principles.

1 personified modesty:

"For God's sake, fcduard Jvanovich!" I said, trying to took loyal, dedicated, humble and honest, "there are many more deserving colleagues in our oil ice, who would be better fitted for such an honorable job. f just do not have the experience, or, for that matter, the Party standing of my colleagues ..."

"This job, Yuri Ale xandrovich, requires not so much experience or Party standing," answered the sleuth sincerely, uas a good musical ear and a thorough knowledge of colloquial Indian laugauges. You see, all we want front you d uring this trip, is to be present during all official and other meetings between the Indians and our boys, and pay utmost attention to whatever they say a bout our defense techno- logy. I ry to figure out who is a real expert and who is just a bureau- crat. I hope with your military vocabulary, taughtto you in the Insti- tute ot Oriental Languages, it will not be difficult. Have you still retained some of it?1*

"Oh. what are you saving, Eduard Ivanovitch! How could 1 pos- sibly forget such an interesting, subject!"

Comrade Sidorov pierced me with his constrictor*? eyes, but decided not to notice my sarcasm.

"Anything curious, whatever you notice about the members of the delegation, their political and ideological views, their attitude toward our country, their personal qualities, anything that may give our Committee a more complete picture of the visit and of the composi- tion of the group."

"Oh yes, the last request," said Sidorov crisply. "There will be a young second secretary of the Indian embassy, someone you know,

£ESfflfflffl3^:^Ha£^^ >.-. ■■■.■:■ S3KWSBS3S :v-.-'. •::■..:■:■:;•■> -::;.•.:.■,,.■■::■• -: V.--v. . J

82

probably from unofficial cocktail parties. He is only twenty-five years old. but rather a promising figure in the embassy. Try to he friendly to him and have a closer look, OK?"

"Sure, no problem." I said, and Eduard Ivanovilch nnee again pierced me with bus sharp little eyes and nose, nodded and disap- peared in the Moscow crowd.

I have never seen what it looks like when arms are sold. I have seen only the results of those transactions — in photographs of the Viet- nam war in foreign and Soviet magazines Also, when 1 read about "selfless and consistent support to nationa I- libera tionist movements all over the world," I knew this actually meant supplying AK-47s to all sorts of bloodthirsty "progressives" desperately bent on power.

By eJevent o'clock in the morning, a train of black limousines slow- ly and silently rolled up to the grey monster of the USSR defense ministry in Arbatski Square. The Indian guests walked in a long file, according to seniority, through a heavy oak and bronze door, spread open in welcome. Sergeants of the guard stood at attention, with the emotionless eyes of cannibals.

The delegation slowly walked lo the second floor, along the widest imaginable staircase, laid with the inevitable red carpet, leading directly into a giant conference hall. Along the endless conference table, with its red cover, there were heavy chairs, and before each, symmetrically displayed pads of paper and pencils. Mineral water and glasses were also provided.

The visiting tribe displayed itself for photographers, In half a minute, the opposite door to the hall opened slowly, and in walked a group of our chieftains, led by Marshal Grechko. all of them decora- ted with the bones of eaten enemies and dried skulls of comrade Lenin on their chests The Soviet minister-soldier approached the Indian minister bureaucrat* and I saw a tiny stream of urine pouring onto the parqueted floor under the guest, who danced convulsively in Nehru's pajamas. The Soviet minister bumped into the guest, grabbed his ready hand and showed his teeth to him and to the photographers. There followed flashes. The guests and the hosts lined up for the "press1* and again showed their teeth, the Soviets beaming, the guests more modest. The next morning there would be a large picture in Pravda, and a chance for Western krcmliiiologistSi to speculate.

In a minute all of the war-makes settled at the tabic, and started pronouncing words without meaning, words of which the meaning had been changed, and words that had been purposefully twisted. "Staunchly abiding by the principles of proletarian international- ism . . , consistently Following the course of the Communist Party of the USSR towards peaceful coexistence . , , being in the advancc-

". ''■:*':

I- ;••■#•'•

'..-■: . :::;■ : '-.:■ IS

83

guard Of the fn rces of peace and progress . . . fulfilling our duty to all progressive mankind victorious Soviet people . . . hand of friend- ship .peoples of Asia, Africa and Latin America . . . brotherly cooperation between the Republic of India and the USSR The Indian war minister replied:

"Following the path of independent development ... in the interest of prefierving (he sovereignty and territorial integrity . , , considering certain aggressive tendencies . . . for the sake of peace and progress non-alignment with military blocs . , .**

In my inner ear I heard: Soviet-savage: We are strongest, all fear us, wc help all who fear us and who help us to keep the rest of the tribes in fear. You belter buy our poisoned arrows, or we will beat the shit out of you. Indian savage; Yes, you are strong, but wc do not want to be obliged to you. We want to buy the poisoned arrows wherever wc want. Moreover, if it were not for our unfriendly next-door neighbor we would not need any arrows at all. But thank you anyway, and please, don't hurt us!

Grechko could then show his teeth, growl and bite his Indian coun* terpart on the leg. Swaran Singh would then give a friendly bark and walk alongside with his tail between hia legs. The bargaining lasted ninety minutes.

The meaning of comrade Sidorov's assignment became clear to me in Sevastopol, where the Indian delegation was brought tu inspect a number of military vessels, offered for sale. There were torpedo boats, cruisers, submarines and rocket-launching boat?*, all freshly painted and $hined Tor the guests.

During the inspection tour some members of the delegation were obviously impressed. They would touch the iron monsters with respect, pat ihe round bodies of the rockets and fill numerous note- books with the figures on how many could be killed with this or thai rocket. It seemed that the statistics quoted by the Soviet salesmen were satisfactory. Several times I overheard Indian* quietly saying to each other, in Hindustani, words like "below standard," "junk" and ''uncomfortable." Those officers, I gathered, wanted lo guarantee the territorial integrity of India in more comfortable boats, capable of using interchangeable parts, purchased in othci countries, Evidently, the "progress iveness" and patriotism of those officers had not yet reached the level where one understands lhat such trifles as sailors' comfort (they will die anyway, won't they?) has nothing lo do with the historically-inevitable national-libcralion-movement-towards- ihe-bright-future-of-all- mankind.

During an impressive banquet on board a shiny cruiser, I was seated between the Indian and Soviet officers and acted as a transla- tor, allowing officiate to grab a bite and a gulp of wine between cere-

£4

monial remarks. In an hour or two, h nth sides were less formal and the Indian side was more sympathetic rn the idea of buying Soviet- made weaponry. I asked a Soviet officer next to me if it were true that some of the boats offered to India were no longer produced or ser- viced in the USSR and had heen discarded by the Soviet Navy. Chewing a piece of steamed hp/uga. (he officer attentively looked at me, noticed the Novosti badge on my chest pocket, and portable tape recorder hanging from my shoulder, then reached for a bottle of vodka, poured it into as many glasses as he could reach, tilted his glass and pronounced a toast: To peace all over the world! To our advanced defense equipment!" Who would refuse the drink?

c it o i; o m. y II Jlf W |» If A I* 9 ji a ni :

, •;, «.

f«pmt «■«•«■« (tMxiau M. H.MW* *-i .IV"*.-. hwnim ,«« ARM,

Dtiicti political cartooniil H>Bidsfrup, cortesj A FN, Is publi- shed In Sovirt "PravJa", Soviet «Ti1m get 1 years of jail

05

DAWNIN OF DETENTE

Comrade Sidorov wanted me to meet as many Indian diplomats as possible during the next week, and to take a sort of "opinion poll" on the question: "How would the Indian government react, if the Soviet government actively interfered in Czec h oslo va k ia to stop ant i -Soviet and anti-socialist clements'activity?" I knew from the TASS reports and from foreign radio broadcasts, that Soviet troops had with- drawn from Czechoslovakia after rather prolonged "military defen- sive maneuvers" by the West German border, which had been held under the pretext that NATO troops were having their own war games at that time. But NATO troops were long gone, the Czechs were more or less content, and we, in Novosti, were under the impres- sion that Duboek would get a way with his libera I reforms. What kind of "active interference" might comrade Sidorov mean? Invasion? Impossible! Purges under KGB supervision? Too old fashioned, highly improbable. Then what? . . .

"Well" I said to myself, "what possible harm could I cause to Czechoslovakia or India by asking my Indian friends a couple of political questions?" So I did. None of them even suggested that India might protest or condemn Soviet "active interference," even when I took it upon myself to suggest what this might mean.

Comrade Sidorov seemed to be satisfied with my report on Indian diplomatic reaction. And 1 comfortably forgot the matter

On August 20 i received a call from a fellow whose name 1 could hardly recollect. We met at Delhi University in 1964. He had intro- duced himself as Igor Ivanov, a student from Moscow, who had arrived in India on a "cultural exchange.*' Igor was a tall, blue-eyed and bJond-haircd Aryan ubermench with strong jaws and an athletic body. He cracked stupid jokes in broken Hindi and addressed a Sikh taxi driver disrespectfully as "worn" and "xardar. " As far as I remembered, Igor spent most of his time at students' parties, where young radicals discussed politics.. For entertainment Igor collected pornographic magazines, sold inConnaught Place on the sidewalks. That's about all 1 could remember of Igor Ivanov (probably not his real name) on my way to meet him at "Friendship House" in Kali ninski Prospect, I do not remember exactly what was the occasion of the meeting that day: probably the signing of some new Soviet Indian friendship and cooperation protocol, or the celebration of an anniversary of an old one.

I met Igor after the official part of the evening in the basement cafeteria- cum -bar, and he introduced me to a group of African and Asian students from the University of Lumumba. We talked about nothing for a while, the Africans bored to death and showing it. The Indians were more polite. In abut half an hour Ujor came up to me

fnt »lva s.<,_.„ i_ (V,.., U^J. T-

:'-.':: '

and whispered that he and the Africans were leaving for a private party at someone's apartment, and that I was invited. That was fine with me and we left quietly.

The party appeared to he a gathering of students from Lumumba University celebrating graduation from a preparatory cnur.se. There were some Latin Americans too. The girls were mainly Russian: they were bravely dressed "decadent U.S. style." They introduced themselves as students, but I immediately remgni7ed them a* laswchkL The music was loud and decadently Western 1 could hard- ly hear Igor as he introduced me to a group of students from Somalia or Mozambique, all studying "political economy and philosophy." The philosophers were rather unsociable. They were too occupied with watching girls, chewing gum and shaking their muscular bodies in the rythm of the music. When they danced, they did it well. Their "body la nguage** spoke of the awakening spirit of Africa. Compared to the boys, our Russian girls looked like cows on a skating rink, but clad in foreign stretch skirts and blue jeans.

By ten o'clock most of the guests and hosts were solidly intoxica- ted* and I noticed that, one after another, mixed couples disappeared into another room or, if that was occupied, into the bathroom. They emerged slightly ruffled by proletarian internationalism. Following the example of my African brothers, I tried to woo one of the girls i nto the kitchen, but after a noncommittal kiss and a superficial study of each other*s anatomy, the tastochka pushed me away with un- expectedly strong arms, whispering impatiently," Mot here, another time!" and gave me her telephone number (which I was sure was a false one).

At about one in the morning the guests started leaving. The music was turned lower, as were the lights in the guest room. The dancing rhythm became slow and intimate. 1 mixed myself o vodka with lemon and went around the apartment in search of Igor, who had said he wanted to talk to mc. 1 found him on the balcony, molesting a nice-looking young Communist from Latin America. I apologized and began to leave themto international friendship, but Igor stopped me. lie let go of the girl, and she left quietly to the guest room in the direction of the liquor tabic.

"Cduard Ivanovich sends you his best rcgards,rt3aid Igor by way of a password." Me is on vacation, in Sochi."

1 offered to get Igor a glass of vodka„ but he said that he did not drink.

"Alcohol kills the brain cells, you know/1 he said, smiling. (And I thought, why should that stop you?)

He listened to my account of adventures with foreign diplomats rather indifferently. Neither was he impressed when I told him how

87

■%

'■

■;■■

::..;.:'■;. :';■■;'-":•.

In hk n»mf> and "hrtnnr" KCR train* fhrtu«anrL« of mnu murderers in Moscow.

88

successfully 1 had spread the KGB rumor that the Soviet premier

minister was planning to send an invitation to the presidem of ihe US to visit Moscow the following month. The traditional "reliable Sour- ces" formula, in combination with my APN background and some real contacts within the Foreign Affairs Ministry, worked perfectly well

"That's all very well, Yuri AlexAndrovich," he said, "but now if

yon want, you may go a step further and do work of a slightly dif- lercnt character for State Security. Wc have been watching your

work with theforeignere, and wc think that yuucoulddowithamore

intellectually stimulating job."

"1 am not sure abowt a 'step further" . . . You see. Igor, the Com- mittee may probably be aware that J . . ."

Your mischievous character is well known, but that would not matter. Now, after several years of work with foreigners, both at home and abroad, you probably have iiutieed that many of them are rather weak people, lacking what we call an 'ideological backbone ' w

"Something of the sort came to my mind. true. But 1 assume there are more dignified people abroad, maybe even some 'talented and strong enemies?"

"Tasted enemies arc the comeiu of a different department of (he KGB; we shall stick to weak friends first, the foreign friends, who need our help and moral auppoiL"

"All right," I said. I had an impiession that Igor was enjoying his role as a lecturer, so J let him talk,

"You probably have discovered already that our Soviet man, with all hm shortcomings b a being of a higher order than they. Even our Soviet hooligan and alcoholic (here Igor stuck his finger m my chest to offer an example} is basically an honest and free man. enjoying freedom of a true kind, acquiied by scientific cognition of reality We, the Soviet people, arc able to sacrifice our personal interests for the interests of our society, our present for our bright future They (Igor made a vague gesture towards the dancing foreigners) Can not ,+

"Generalizations of this so. i arc beyond my competence . *

"Read the newspapers! The Americans in Vietnam, a country literally possessed and screwed up by them, cannot fight the war w.thout beer and women! And drugs. They are pawns, expendable pawns, gun fodder , . .*

"Well . . So what?- (J 5tiu wondered what the hell the KGB xvanted from me now.)

"So thi£: we are a better and stiunger sort of people. You personal- ly, for example, with all your weaknesses, I would preferabove most so-called 4fnends*of our country, many of whom you haveto accom- pany as a tranylotor-cum-scrvant "

"So?"

: : .

. ■ ■■

"Say. if we invited some Jean- Paul Sartre to a conference of progressive writers, he would arrive with his nose running from deligm., and write and declare publicly anything we would ask him — about our achievements. But try the same trick with you; would you give an interview to the 'Voice of America"?"

"Of course not," I said. (Cheap provocateur!)

"You seer exclaimed Igor, as if he had proven a very important point.

"A 'step further.1 " I said gloomily,

"Yes A step further, Yuri Alexandrovich, ifvou decide to makeii would mean that youll have not only to observe the foreign guests a nd report to us, but also to play a somewhat more active role in their reorientation process, using their weaknesses and personal peculiari- ties. It is difficult work, if you want, to that of a psychologist, or a teacher with mentally retarded children."

"I see," I said I pensively, not understanding why we needed men- tally retarded friends.

"You see, we do not allow renegades and anti-Soviet elements to undermine our social order by voicing the so-called 'rights* of crimi- nals, pederasts and traitors. But in the West their presidents woo every dcbil. shake hands with both hippies and progressive writers neo-fascists and Communists. Therefore, we also cannot afford to ignore any foreigner, as longas he is able and willing to be a carrier of our ideas.**

"My impression is," said I, "that a number of rather progressively- thinking foreigners would prefer their names not to be associated with us, Novosti Press Agency in particular/1

"Oh, that will change, "said Igor with force, "that is already chan- ging. In the time of 'cult1 our committee used old-fashioned methods based on the presumption that 'nothing humane is strange to our tnends and adversaries': everybody likes a little bit of extra cash a good meal, a company of a young girl, maybe ... a reputation as a well-known humanist. And if that did not work we used to have and still have, and still have, wonderful files on each of them, and we would not hesitate to pass it on to their sensational mass media "

**ls tt any different now?*1

"Well, in a way. yes. You may get it at your Novosti briefing soon — the new policy line.'1

"Relaxation of international tensions? Rapprochement?"

**Not only thai. The latest key-word is 'detente. ' '"

"Big, big men will dance to our music. You 11 see. men like Willy Brandt, Nixon, Ed Kennedy, Pompidou, that Canadian pidar Trudeau ... to say nothing about small shit like liberal university prolessors. media people, actors, lawyers, businessmen, and of

:'::■.., :'■

90

course, students,"

"Igor." said I. pretending to be more drunk than I was.*' don't you think it stinks?"'

"The ethical side of the work, Yuri Alexandre vicru may give you some trouble and often bring up the question *to be or not to' be' with our Committee. Remember though, that any respectable world power, and we are. must have its intelligence service, and in any poli- tical system these services use methods which are, mildly speaking, less than kosher. "

"Could you be more specific about my work, please."

"Yes. We want you, for the start, to screen the yoxtngchemnzhop- ye, including the Lumumba lot, and using your Novosii cover and your discretion, select those who are fit for further training in our centers for leaders of the national liberation forces/'

"Why mc? Don^t you have enough of your men within Lumumba already?"

"We want your opinion on them from a specific angle. As a journalist and propaganda specialist we want you to assess their ability to be ideologically effective."

"Well, most of them were sounded ideologically, as 1 understand, before entering Lumumba. Would you like me to select further the most dedicated marxists?"

"No. .lust the opposite. We need people who can innocently say white is black and make others believe it. We do not need 'true belie- vers': they turn into the worst enemies if and when disillusioned. We want ideological workers, motivated by simple, permanent and reliable instincts: the desire for power and the ability to survive. Plus an ability to use ideological propaganda techniques, the wav you do within Novosti. This is one of the most important factors of our future work in the developing world, according to the latest usianov- ka of the Central Committee."

"Yes. I see, "I said, noticing that my glass was empty. "I will think it over and let you know soon."

"Very well, Yuri Alexandrovich. Please call Sklorov when you arc ready, OK?"

It was getting cold or the balcony, so 1 said good-bye to Igor and walked into the guest room, where the future liberators of the Third World were dancing cheek-to-cheek with KGB girls to blues font the USA. The room smelled of sweat, smoke, alcohol, and proletarian solidarity. I poured myself a stiff vodka and tossed it down my throat, chasing it with a bite of pickle. Nobody paid any attention to mc as I slipped out of the apartment and walked into sleeping Moscow, Sleep well, dear Moscow. Me and Igor are vigilantly guarding your security against imperialists.

&-F.4& '■ >f*^'M ■'■■ ■ ■ "

92

The next morning I heard on the 3 ho rt -wave about the Soviet invasion into Czechoslovakia, The tearful voice of a Prague radio girl implored the indifferent world: **This is Radio Prague. Brotherly radio stations in Yugoslavia, Romania, Hungary! Please tell ihe world about our tragedy. Please help us to reach people in broiherly socialist countries , . , This is our last broadcast , . . The Soviet lanks open fire at the windows of our radio station . . . Long live Dubcek1 Long live socialism! Long live Czechoslovakia!**

Four days later, a Novosti colleague introduced inc 10 his girl- friend Galya, just returned from Prague on a Soviet personnel carrier. She was shaking, weeping, describing the night of the inva- sion. And the shame she felt, as a teachci of Russian in Prague University, when her students walked out of hci class on the morning after the invasion.

HeJ pless rage overtook mc. What can a small man like myself do to stop this madness? Burn myself in protest in the Red Square? Blow up the Kremlin'.' Hopeless. This world, as my Indian friend would say, is going progressively mad . , ♦

By the end of the day a decision crystal i/.cd: I shall take the new KGB job. I shall remember every blackassed son-of-a-bltch per- sonally, ni take their picture*, if possible, and after defection to the West, I shall tell the world who are the cadres of the "black majority" and "liberators of peoples"! And what these whores we re doing in my country, apart from screwing the KGB lamochki.

To be continued,,.

1 :'■■':'

: .

To be continued...

All warfare is based primarily on the deception of an enemy. Fighting on a battlefield is the most primitive way of making war. There is no art higher than to destroy your enemy without a fight — by SUB- VERTING anything of value in the enemy's country

Sun Tzu Chinese philosopher

500 B.C

We rarely use guns to kill people and lake their country. The cleanest way Is to blackmail, pervert, bribe, lie and intimidate the POLITI- CIANS and the MEDI A, and they will destabilize and disunity their own country for us. Then all we have left to do is to arm the pro- communist or simply criminal tactions and we have a coup and '' ' M -"" country. As neat as that,

Yuri Bezmenov former agent of APN-KGB

another "'liberated'

T ■:'':)'

What war rages between 1045 and ♦ . . now? Ah, only a third of man- kind was conquered! No war at all. ,Jnnt peaceful liberation.

Lev Navrozov Soviet dissident writer

Psychological warfare, a form of Covert1 action which hr*ak« down the opposite side's home defenses without a shot being fired, is waged by Soviet Communism throughout the communication media of other countries.

John Rees Accuracy in Media. Washington

Whether a journalist, politician or a businessman is in fact on a pay- roll of the KCt'B or not, whether he helps lo spread Communism willingly, by ignorance or for a profit, whether he is caught and punished or at large and happy — is absolutely immaterial for the cause ol SUBVERSION. What matters is the final vector of History, the sum of our individual actions, decisions, statements, our com- promise with our consciousness. This is where every one of us is accountable to Ihe future and God.

Alex Kosachov Russian emigree poet

* + + •***•******

MY PUBLICATIONS

i: ■.■.,.;:

■ ■■■■■■ -.-

. : -.'•. ■.■' :

:.:■:'. ' :

1, "Love Lelter to America'' ~ my lift story , work for the KGB, me mo as of disinformation, and how to deal with it, 64 pages including photographs and chart* — $5.69 postpaid.

I, "World Thought Police" — description of the shamefut "deals" between the Soviet KGB and some Western journalists, spreading Communist disinfotma/ tion in their own countries. Photos and documents included. 64 pages, $5.69 postpaid.

In my next book "Moscow — Delhi — Void" I will describe the workings of the Soviet embassy's Information Department in India, orchestration of the invasion into East Pakistan in 1970 (described by the Western media as "grass root Islamic Revolution") and, finally, my defection from the USSR embassy to Americans, disguised as a "hippie". Price of the book — $7.95 postpaid, send your checkes to NAT A, 501 So. Fairfax Av.t Room 21&> Los Angeles, California 90036.

I

Answering your letters

TOMAS SCHUMAN has been person- ally involved with the worldwide pro- paganda efforts of the Soviet regime. Like a true-life Winston Smith, from tJeorge Orwell's "1984". Tomas

Schuman worked for for the communist equivalent of Orwell's Ministry of Truth ~The Novosli Press Agency. NovostL which means "News'* in Russian, exists to produce slanted and false stories to plant in the foreign media. The ieim for this K.G.B, effort ia "disinformation".

Mr. Schuman was born under the name or Yuri Bezmenov in Moscow in 1939, l he son of a senior officer in the Red Army. Consequently, he went to

guod schools, At the age of 17 he elite red the Institute of Oriental Lang- uages of Moscow Stale University.

ISBN 0 936090 17 7

Copyright by Tomas Schuman

After graduating, he worked for No- vosti, then spent two years in India as an interpreter and public relations officer with Soviet Refineries Const- ructions. He returned to Moscow in 1965 10 work for Novosti, serving as Economic Editor for the Hindi, Urdu and English Edition* of Sovieilaud Magazine. In 1969 he went back to India and continued propaganda efforts for Novosli in New Delhi, working out of the Soviet Embassy in a department called Research and Counter-Propagan- da. Due to his growing disgust, he be- gan to plan defection.

In February of 1970 he disguised himself as a hippie complete with beads and wig and joined a tour group to escape to Athens, He contacted the United Statu Embassy and, after a

loiig debriefing by U.S. Intelligence, was granted asylum and went to Cana- da.

In Canada, he studied political science a i the University of Toronto for two years, taught Russian language and literature and in 1972 was hired by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's International Service as a Producer/ Announcer, broadcasting to the Soviet Union. The K.G.B. forced Him out of the job in 1976, so lie began free-lanre journalism and worked on a variety of projects.

Today he is a political analyst for PANORAMA weekly in Los Angeles. He is in in lied, and has two children. He is the author of two yet unpub- lished hooks

You can order this book by mailing your check mod* to N.A.T.A. (Now American Talent Association) 70 page*, 57,80 postpaid. — to: Almanec, 501 So Fairfax Av.> Suit* 206. Los Ana*?***, C* 90036. Tape- ca««tt«s with Schuman'* talk on KGB ft Active Measures a re avails Die for S& a pier:* plus postage.

ALMANAC

Los Ancjeles, 1985