Monday 16 December
I tried to be very methodical today and plodded through the snow, finishing what I had to do. I met a guy from Tambov, prosecuted on a sodomy charge, then picked up our registration papers from the Mayor of Moscow’s office. They were some of the last that Gavriil Popov signed before resigning as Mayor, and symbolically ours were done on Human Rights Day.
I took advantage of talking to the lawyer in the Protocol Department of the Mayordom, who horrified me by saying that since the coup all property has passed into the hands of the Mayor’s office, so Krasnopresnensky District Soviet no longer have the authority to grant us office space. We need a new authorisation from the Mayor’s office. I felt almost tearful, as it took five months to get the first one – never mind all the building work we’ve had done to the office. On sober reflection though I decided to consult with the Moscow Justice Department about it all, and have an appointment with them tomorrow.
I changed money to pay the builders’ last instalment. £1 = 160 roubles today. Apparently it was 110 roubles last week. Tolya and I had a misunderstanding and each cooked dinner for the other tonight. He came here and I gave him a birthday present and paid him for all the good work he has done.
Erich Honecker is hiding out in the street next to Irina and her mother.
Tuesday 17 December
Another methodical day. I went to check out the Moscow Property and Privatisation Fund, which has moved from Kuznetsky Most, hopefully with all our documents still festering inside it. There I had rather a miraculous morning. They were technically shut, but I was passed from one kind person to another, who tried to decide if my new registration paper from the Moscow Mayordom would be enough to clinch our property order for us. There’s a fifty-fifty chance it will be.
Just to be sure, I also took advice with Nikita at the Moscow City Department of Justice. He advised against trying to get another property permit from the Mayordom, which would be hard, and said instead we should try to go locally through the Prefect of the Central District. He photocopied papers for me, free of charge.
All this actually took seven hours, but it bucked me up. When I got in a man called who thinks the KGB is controlling his thoughts by parapsychology. He sounded in quiet despair. I talked to him for quite some time.
Wednesday 18 December
I’d had a telegram from the sister of a man on death row: on 6 November Gorbachev had refused to give him clemency, but the family found out only on 25 November. Meanwhile the press is full of new evidence that suggests he’s innocent, and the family doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead. This morning I did a lot of ringing round at the USSR Supreme Soviet to find out. No one knows, but there’s no record that he has been executed, so I sent a telegram to this effect to his sister. The telegram woman blinked when she read it, as I was standing there with my bag of laundry, waiting to pay.
In town I queued for a cake, and without any warning two men in the queue suddenly hit each other. It was horrible and immediately put everyone’s nerves on edge. The cake woman bawled me out for having the wrong change. I felt beaten.
Galina Starovoytova and the ex-prisoner Valeriya Novodvorskaya were debating on a current affairs programme, In the Corridors of Power, tonight. Both are masters of the soundbite and sharp remark, and the dynamic between them was very interesting. Basically Starovoytova’s line was: “You try doing it and you’d shut up after five minutes.”
Someone called to say Ekho Moskvy radio station had reported on our registration tonight. Unexpected!
Thursday 19 December
I’m terribly down in the dumps this week and can’t shake it off. Basically I don’t feel well. I spent the morning trying to contact the Turkmenian Embassy without any luck, then tried the Estonians on the off-chance. They asked me to come within the hour, so I had to change and read up all our stuff on Estonia in ten minutes flat. Had quite an interesting hour with the Chargé d’Affaires, but although he was quite nice and forthcoming, Estonia seems to be rather an inward-looking little country.
Irina and I saw Placido Domingo in the film of Othello, marred by the sound, which came and went. She’d brought my boots from the menders near her house, and had even polished them.
Got home very cold and exhausted. Felt immensely lonely and depressed in the evening. Tolya said Radio Rossiya had announced our registration. Nikolay said it was on the front page of Izvestiya and very nicely complimented me.
Friday 20 December
Tanya came round to give me a massage at 7.00am. She’d gone to bed at 3.30am, was up at 5.00am and full of beans with me. Her woollen leggings were itching her to death, so I helped her wrap newspapers round her legs underneath them. She was off to her old orphanage to give them 2,000 roubles and be Father Christmas. She said anyone listening to my voice would think I was the most unhappy person on earth. Then she overheard some of my phone calls about executions, and I think she saw why.
I went up to Moscow Psychiatric Hospital No. 4, where I had been asked to introduce the AGM of the Independent Psychiatric Association by Dr Savenko. It was rather an interesting day: about fifty mainstream psychiatrists, who work voluntarily, giving independent diagnoses and helping rehabilitate former victims of psychiatric abuse. What was most interesting is that they are also publishing independently, so that the stranglehold on the profession is loosening in one respect at least. They all knew each other well and the atmosphere was nice.
Irina’s mother was there and sat next to me. She said after she’d written an article criticising the Ministry of Health, two psychiatrists had been sent round to see her at her office – and that was Moscow, 1990. This week she’d also been No. 138 in a queue for Dutch cheese, but refused to give the shop assistant her hand to write the number down – so her number went to the person behind. She invited me round for Christmas.
Father Nikon came round for five hours in the evening. It was a struggle lasting out. He wants to market an ancient preparation for removing unwanted hair, and is sure it will make him a million in the West. He too is in the throes of registration and described various encounters where he came out in a sweat and was filled with dread. Only someone who’s been through it can understand it.
These past few weeks I’ve been trying to organise an invitation for a friend from home to come and stay over Christmas. My own invitation was not enough to get her a visa and so in the space of a week I managed to get an official invitation for her from Natalya’s Legal Fund, courier it to London, and she got her visa today. Apparently Gromovik at the USSR Embassy in London said, “Marjorie should have known better”, i.e. it should have been obvious that people who’ve never heard of Sarah should pretend to invite her for reasons that don’t exist. Silly me.
Saturday 21 December
I slept on the floor last night and it was much better than the lumpy couch. Woke feeling better than I have in ages.
En route to the second day of the psychiatry seminar, I dropped off death penalty materials at Viktor’s place. Viktor has made contact with Gorbachev’s assistant and is suggesting he commute all death sentences as a final presidential gesture. Viktor predicts a coup in January.