The Gorbachev Era
The death of Leonid Brezhnev in 1982 ushered in a period of transition in the Soviet leadership. Brezhnev’s immediate successor was the sophisticated Iurii Andropov, a former head of the KGB, who appeared ready to introduce radical changes.
When he died after less than two years in power, his successor, the aging, ailing Konstantin Chernenko, was a representative of the old regime, who was unwilling to introduce the reforms that the USSR clearly needed. But he, too, died shortly after attaining power. The spectacle of one elderly Soviet leader after another dying in office clearly emphasized the need for younger, more energetic, and innovative leadership. Consequently, in 1985, Mikhail Gorbachev, a protege of Andropov, was selected by the party leaders to lead the USSR on a new course. With his accession to power, a new breed of party apparatchiki (functionaries) came to the fore. Sophisticated and pragmatic, Gorbachev and his associates were the first generation of Soviet leaders whose rise to power did not occur under the aegis of Stalin.Despite deep-rooted opposition from conservatives in the party and the society as a whole, Gorbachev launched his attempt to make the Soviet system, particularly its stagnant economy, more efficient, stronger, and productive. To achieve his objectives, Gorbachev adopted a new “democratic” style of leadership. He strove to create the impression that his regime was closer, more accessible, to the people and called for more openness (glasnost) in the conduct of government and for a restructuring of its economy (perestroika). Chernobyl
Before the impact of Gorbachev’s reforms reached Ukraine, however, the country was shaken by a catastrophe of huge proportions and global significance. On 26 April 1986, a reactor at the huge Chernobyl nuclear plant, located about 130 km north of Kiev, exploded. A huge cloud of radiation, incomparably larger than that produced by the bombing of Hiroshima, covered the environs of Chernobyl and then spread over parts of Belorussia, Poland, and Scandinavia.
The world was confronted by what it feared most – nuclear disaster.In traditional fashion, Soviet authorities initially attempted to cover up the catastrophe, which, as was established later, resulted from human error, gross negligence, and the faulty design of the reactor. When the cover-up proved to be impossible, Moscow admitted the scope of the disaster and called for advice and assistance from Western experts. Soviet engineers succeeded in extinguishing the burning reactor by encasing it in concrete and burying it in a gigantic “tomb.” According to Soviet sources, the catastrophe resulted in 35 deaths (many Western specialists believe that the number of fatalities was much higher), the hospitalization of hundreds of people, and the exposure to high levels of radiation and increased risk of cancer for hundreds of thousands. About 135,000 people, most of them Ukrainians from the Chernobyl region, were forced to abandon their homes – in many cases, permanently. The ecological damage to the environs of Chernobyl and to areas as far away as Lapland was extreme and long term.
From 1970, when the construction of the plant began, there had been opposition in Ukraine to Moscow’s decision to build the huge nuclear plant in the energy-rich republic and in the vicinity of Kiev. Consequently, resentment of the high-handed and irresponsible manner in which Moscow forced the plant on Ukraine was widespread in the republic. In addition, there were indications that the disaster gave rise to tensions between the all-union and the Ukrainian party leaderships, as each strove to blame the other for the accident. Nonetheless, it is evident that Moscow is not about to alter its plans; it still intends to expand the Chernobyl plant and to make Ukraine the center of its growing nuclear industry. This has elicited strong protests from the Ukrainian intelligentsia. Indeed, it appears that environmental issues may become another point of contention between the Kremlin and the Ukrainians.
Gorbachev’s “glasnost” and UkraineIn Moscow, evidence of the reforms that Gorbachev has attempted to implement in the face of considerable opposition from hard-liners in the establishment and a skeptical public has been widespread and often dramatic, especially in the realm of culture. Major newspapers now reflect a new mood of openness and self-criticism: the popular magazine Ogonek, whose recently appointed editor is the erstwhile Ukrainian poet Vitalii Korotych, has repeatedly attacked the Stalin cult and abuses of power by the police and bureaucracy; Russian poets espousing militantly anti-Soviet views have been published; and Pamiat, a civic organization that propagates a militant and most un-Marxist Russian nationalism and anti-Semitism, has not been suppressed.
By comparision, in Kiev, signs of the “new spirit” have been rare and relatively muted. The reticence of the Ukrainians is understandable. Kiev is the bailiwick of Shcherbytsky, an avowed conservative, who is the last holdover in the Politburo of the old, regressive Brezhnev regime. Moreover, the Ukrainian KGB is reputed to be the most repressive in the USSR. Finally, the Ukrainian intelligentsia remembers all too well how badly it was “burned” when it enthusiastically embraced Khrushchev’s reforms in the 1960s.
Despite these inhibitions, some signs of restiveness have surfaced among the Ukrainian intelligentsia. In the fall of 1987, a Ukrainian Culturological Club was established in Kiev. Many of its leading members are former dissidents who wish to test the limits of glasnost by openly discussing such politically sensitive issues as the Famine of 1932–33, the millennium of Christianity in Ukraine, and the struggle for independence in 1917–20.
In Lviv, the center of the nationally conscious West Ukrainians, glasnost evoked a more dramatic and broadly based response. In June and July 1988 several huge, unsanctioned, and unprecedented public gatherings were held that attracted tens of thousands of participants.
Organized by former dissidents such as Chornovil, the Horyn brothers, Ihor and Iryna Kalynets, and a new activist, Ivan Makar, the demonstrations called for the erection of a fitting monument to Shevchenko in Lviv as well as one to the victims of Stalinism. These organizers rejected the party bureaucrats who had chosen themselves to represent Lviv in the upcoming party congress in Moscow. And they gave vent to the numerous national grievances of the Ukrainians. In August the Lviv KGB reacted in typical fashion: it accused the organizers of “anti-Soviet activity” and arrested some of them. It appears that genuine democracy is still a long way off for the Ukrainians.Somewhat earlier, the representatives of the establishment Writers’ Union of Ukraine (which has a vested interest in preventing the decline in the use of Ukrainian) also clashed with the party conservatives grouped around Shcher-bytsky over the perennial issues of Russification and the status of the Ukrainian language. In June 1986, a number of well-known Ukrainian writers, including Oles Honchar, Dmytro Pavlychko, Ivan Drach, and S. Plachynda, decried the declining use of Ukrainian in the republic’s schools and the Writers’ Union formed a committee to maintain contacts with educational institutions. In April 1987, M. Fomenko, the minister of education of the Ukrainian republic, presented a disheartening but not surprising report to the committee about Ukrainian-language education. According to him, there are currently 15,000 Ukrainian-language schools in Ukraine, that is, about 75% of all schools. But the 4500 Russian-language schools, which constitute less than 22% of the total, enroll over 50% of all pupils. In Kiev, the situation is even more abnormal: of 300,000 pupils, only 70,000 study in Ukrainian.
Apparently these statistics are not disturbing to party functionaries. Shcher-bytsky’s only noteworthy comment on this issue has been an expression of hope that the use of Russian will not decline.
In general, it seems that while the party establishment in Ukraine is becoming more receptive to some aspects of Gorbachev’s modernization, it has no intention of changing its nationality policy in Ukraine. This position has led to the sharp confrontation between the writers and party functionaries that occurred at the all-Ukrainian conference of teachers held in Kiev in May 1987. Frustrated by the party’s reluctance to respond to Ukrainian cultural and linguistic aspirations, while accepting changes in other areas, members of the Writers’ Union have become increasingly explicit in expressing their dissatisfaction.In March 1987, at a meeting of the Writers’ Union presidium, Ivan Drach stated that in the schools “Ukrainian language and literature have become the objects of the jokes and insults of an arrogant bourgeoisie with chauvinistic [Russian] tendencies, which hides behind the shield of internationalism and disparages the roots from which it itself emerged.”17 Dmytro Pavlychko demanded that the government of the republic see to it that the study of Ukrainian be enforced in the schools. He added that “if the attitude not only to our language but to all the non-Russian languages does not change… we will not reach our greatest, most sacred goal – the friendship of nations – for only those nations which retain their own character can enter into a friendship.”18
As the 20th century draws to a close, it is clear that Ukrainians have entered the ranks of the modern, industrialized nations. The historical role of their country as the richly endowed but underdeveloped borderland appears to be over. And the Soviet regime deserves much of the credit for effecting this epochal transformation. It also carries the responsibility for its tragically high costs. By the same token, Ukraine is characterized by what may be called the Great Discrepancy. Despite its large economic role, both in the USSR and in global terms, and its numerous, well-educated population, Ukraine is still unable to decide its own fate.
Indeed, the political profile of Soviet Ukraine abroad is so low that many people in the world are still unaware of its distinctiveness. This, too, is largely a result of Moscow’s policies.With the repression of nationalism and the atrophy of communism, the influence of the two great ideologies that for generations molded the thinking of Ukrainians and guided their actions has faded. Meanwhile, changes in the USSR appear to be be in the offing. Under the new conditions that seem to be emerging, questions abound. Where will Ukrainians look for guidelines to their future development? Will they be able to correct the anomalies of their condition? And, most important, do they have the will to do so? There are at the moment very few indicators that might help to clarify the situation. Therefore, as has been true so often in the past, a cloud of uncertainty hangs heavily over Ukraine and the Ukrainians.