Gulag_ A History - Anne Applebaum [341]
In a very deep sense, some of the ideology of the Gulag also survives in the attitudes and worldview of the new Russian elite. I once happened to listen in on a classic, late-night Russian kitchen-table conversation, which took place in the home of some Moscow friends. At a certain point very late in the evening, two of the participants—successful entrepreneurs—began to argue: Just how stupid, and just how gullible, are the Russian people? And just how much more intelligent are we? The old Stalinist division between categories of humanity, between the all-powerful elite and the worthless “enemies” lives on in the new Russian elite’s arrogant contempt for its fellow citizens. Unless that elite soon comes to recognize the value and the importance of all of Russia’s citizens, to honor both their civil and their human rights, Russia is ultimately fated to become today’s northern Zaire, a land populated by impoverished peasants and billionaire politicians who keep their assets in Swiss bank vaults and their private jets on runways, engines running.
Tragically, Russia’s lack of interest in its past has deprived the Russians of heroes, as well as victims. The names of those who secretly opposed Stalin, however ineffectively—the students like Susanna Pechora, Viktor Bulgakov, and Anatoly Zhigulin; the leaders of the Gulag rebellions and uprisings; the dissidents, from Sakharov to Bukovsky to Orlov—ought to be as widely known in Russia as are, in Germany, the names of the participants in the plot to kill Hitler. The incredibly rich body of Russian survivors’ literature—tales of people whose humanity triumphed over the horrifying conditions of the Soviet concentration camps—should be better read, better known, more frequently quoted. If schoolchildren knew these heroes and their stories better, they would find something to be proud of even in Russia’s Soviet past, aside from imperial and military triumphs.
Yet the failure to remember has more mundane, practical consequences too. It can be argued, for example, that Russia’s failure to delve properly into the past also explains its insensitivity to certain kinds of censorship, and to the continued, heavy presence of secret police, now renamed the Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti, or FSB. Most Russians are not especially bothered by the FSB’s ability to open mail, tap telephones, and enter private residences without a court order. Nor are they much interested, for example, in the FSB’s long prosecution of Alexander Nikitin, an ecologist who wrote about the damage Russia’s Northern Fleet is doing to the Baltic Sea.9
Insensitivity to the past also helps explain the absence of judicial and prison reform. In 1998, I paid a visit to the central prison in the city of Arkhangelsk. Once one of the capital cities of the Gulag, Arkhangelsk lay directly on the route to Solovetsky, to Kotlas, to Kargopollag, and to other northern camp complexes. The city prison, which dated back to before Stalin’s time, seemed hardly to have changed since then. I entered it in the company of Galina Dudina, a woman who qualifies as a genuine post-Soviet rarity, a prisoners’ rights advocate. As we walked the halls of the stone building, accompanied by a silent warder, it seemed if we had stepped back into the past.
The corridors were narrow and dark, with damp, slimy walls. When the warder opened the door to a men’s cell, I caught a glimpse of naked bodies stretched out on bunks, covered in tattoos. Seeing the men were undressed, he quickly closed the door and allowed