As for the modus operandi of the Politburo in Gorbachev’s time, there is some interesting information in Dobrynin’s memoirs. It remained pretty much unchanged. The main difference stemmed from Gorbachev’s personal style, which was more modern than that of the figures described by Ligachev in a period when, with Chernenko ill, the atmosphere had more in common with the priesthood of a mystical cult than the leadership of a modern state.
As a Central Committee secretary, Dobrynin participated in Politburo meetings. He had the right to express his views, but not to vote. The Central Committee secretaries were invariably in attendance. From time to time, Gorbachev convened special sessions. Votes on contentious issues were rarely taken: Gorbachev would forestall them by stating that the issue merited further attention and would be discussed at the next meeting. He would use the intervening period to prepare the decision he wanted to see adopted. Gorbachev liked to talk at length, and sessions would sometimes last until 6 or 8 PM. But he also allowed his colleagues to express their opinions; and in this respect, the atmosphere was more democratic. During the lunch break, which lasted an hour, everyone sat together at a long table in a small working hall. They could choose between two very plain menus, without alcohol. At lunch, discussion was more freewheeling and no stenographic record was made, although Gorbachev’s personal assistant did take ‘private’ notes.
Officially, only Politburo decisions were recorded in writing and transmitted to a short list of officials to be implemented and supervised. The most important decisions were kept in a special folder. The agenda was drawn up by the general-secretary, but Politburo members were entitled to supplement or amend it – something they rarely did. Papers for each meeting were sent out a day or two in advance by the ‘general department’, the Secretariat’s main executive body. This department occupied a special place in the party apparatus. It was always headed by the general-secretary’s right-hand man: Chernenko under Brezhnev, and Lukyanov, followed by Boldin, under Gorbachev. Lukyanov was a well-educated, measured person, while Boldin was a narrow-minded bureaucrat who held sway over Gorbachev. This was a cause of bewilderment to many, especially when Boldin showed his true colours by turning out to be one of the instigators of the plot against Gorbachev in August 1991.
The international department run by Dobrynin had nothing to do with foreign affairs. Its 200 officials dealt with Communist parties and other left-wing movements abroad, but not the parties of the popular democracies, which were handled by a separate department. Dobrynin had asked Gorbachev to reverse an old decision, dating from the time of the Comintern, and let his own department handle foreign affairs. He had his way on 13 May 1986, when Gorbachev also authorized the transfer of some experts from the Foreign Ministry to the international department to aid Dobrynin in his new duties.[12] We should add that these moves involved some internal politicking. As we can see from his memoirs, Gorbachev was trying to eliminate Gromyko’s influence over foreign policy and even remove him completely from political life. Henceforth, with Dobrynin’s professional input, the general-secretary monopolized foreign affairs.
In the context of this brief sketch of the Politburo’s functioning, it is important to realize that, for all his ‘modern’ style, Gorbachev remained a ‘classical’ general-secretary. His career in the party apparatus had shaped his conception of power, and particularly of the role of general-secretary as superior to other Politburo members and subject to its own rules. Even if Dobrynin does not explicitly say as much, his description confirms it: Gorbachev manipulated his colleagues through rather transparent stratagems in order to get his own way. Gorbachev was incapable of shedding the ‘general-secretary syndrome’, and it took him time to realize that a system of power which generated this kind of ‘disembodied’ central position was already moribund.
18
SOME LEADERS
Let us now pursue our investigation of the country’s problems and woes through a different optic: that of the men at its head or in charge of a key sector. The figures selected here are not typical Politburo members – Brezhnev, Kirilenko, Suslov, Chernenko, and their ilk – some of whom were skilful operators, but political and intellectual mediocrities who ultimately prevailed. They can be tagged as ‘the swamp’, and the very fact that they held power is a symptom of the system’s decay. We have instead singled out personalities who proved capable of reflecting on the system – or their own domain, at any rate – and who were ready to attempt change. Many of them may have shared our opinion of the ‘swamp’ that was primarily responsible for the period of ‘stagnation’.
We only have space here to discuss a few figures – in particular, Khrushchev, with whom our period opens, and Andropov, with whom it closes.
ANDREI GROMYKO
Andrei Gromyko was a figure of considerable stature, but with a seemingly unimpressive personality – an unusual combination of incompatible characteristics. He was at the helm of Soviet foreign affairs for twenty-eight years. Although not known to have been involved in reformist initiatives, he was nevertheless a pillar of the system in this crucial sphere. Many found him utterly boring and sour-faced, but if we turn to the Western diplomats who dealt with him, like Henry Kissinger, we are given to understand that he was probably the ‘number one’ of international diplomacy, renowned among his peers as a glutton for work: ‘If you can face Gromyko for an hour and survive, then you can begin to call yourself a diplomat’, said Kissinger. One of the ‘survivors’ was President Reagan. Having spent an hour with Gromyko, he returned all excited to the White House, where the event was duly celebrated: the meeting was in a sense his graduation. What he did not know was that Dobrynin had briefed Gromyko on Reagan and advised him to go easy on him for diplomatic reasons. The heads of the Israeli UN delegation (including David Horowitz) never said anything in their memoirs about Gromyko’s ‘sour’ face at the time when he was Soviet ambassador there and the creation of the state of Israel was on the agenda. Each day he would ask them: ‘What can I do for you today?’ Times change.
Whatever one’s assessment of Gromyko’s personality, Soviet diplomacy and the performance of its experts and senior ambassadors were mostly of a high quality under his intendancy; and this was largely attributable to his own perfectionism. A reading of his briefs, analyses and recommendations on the world situation confirm his in-depth knowledge. Whether his Politburo colleagues listened is another matter. But the general quality of the information available to the leadership was constantly improving – and not only in the diplomatic sphere – which was no doubt testimony to the system’s ‘modernizing’ aspect. It is sufficient today to meet any Russian diplomat formed in this school – he will invariably speak several foreign languages well – to see how proud he is of his alma mater. The Soviet ambassadors to key countries were always highly respected – particularly their doyen, Dobrynin, or the special envoy Kvetsinsky, famous for making progress in negotiations during his ‘walk in the woods’ with his American counterpart, Paul Nitze.