The Soviet Union ended twenty years ago, in December 1991. On November 10-11 of this year, the Gorbachev Foundation, headed by the last Soviet President, the Carnegie Moscow Center, and the Washington-based National Security Archives co-sponsored a two-day conference in Moscow on the causes behind the break up of the Soviet Union and the domestic and international consequences of that historic event. Russian, European and American participants, including scholars, journalists and political figures, presented their perspectives and debated an array of large issues. A number of the speakers had participated in or been close observers of perestroika, as Gorbachev’s reforms preceding the end of the Soviet state were known. My own contribution was on a panel focusing on social developments during that period—with a special emphasis on glasnost, or the ending of censorship. Below are my remarks at the conference. They are in part a memoir of my own experience at what was perhaps the most important glasnost newspaper.
At the height of glasnost in 1988-89, the writer Ales Adamovich remarked, "Today, it’s more interesting to read than to live." Anyone who lived during those years of glasnost as a writer, a journalist, an editor, an intellectual, a political person, understood what he meant.
My husband Stephen Cohen and I lived in Moscow for several months during each of the six and a half years of perestroika and glasnost. For an American, I had an extraordinary insider view of the unfolding of glasnost. In 1989, I worked at Moskovskii Novosti—the flagship newspaper of glasnost—under its remarkable editor, Yegor Yakovlev, a det dvatsatovo sezda (a child of the 20th party congress) and a leading perestroischik. Yakovlev’s determination, courage and ability to expand the limits of what could be published at that time, to shatter longstanding taboos despite the fierce opposition this aroused among powerful enemies of perestroika, continues to inspire me today as the editor of a weekly American political magazine whose unorthodox and dissenting views frequently provoke the animosity of powerful establishment forces.
I remember Yegor—though we were much younger than him, I do not recall any of us ever using his patronymic—crossing Pushkin Square from the editorial offices of Moskovskii Novosti to the chief censorship office (Glavlit) to argue for publication of articles about long forbidden subjects, people and literature. As I recall, there was also a censor—a nice older man—in the newspaper’s own editorial offices. With each passing week, he looked increasingly bewildered—as the multitude of taboos being broken became too many to defend. Indeed, I was amazed every week by how much I had heard spoken only in apartment kitchens during the Brezhnev era was now appearing in the pages of the mass circulation newspaper Moskovskii Novosti.
As many of you know, Yegor Yakovlev was not alone on the barricades of glasnost. Behind him stood, of course, Gorbachev and Aleksandr Yakovlev, and on his staff at Moskovskii Novosti were other fearless perestroishchiki. Len Karpinsky and Volodya Shevelov were two of them whom my husband Steve and I came to know well and admire very much.
My own small contributions to glasnost, to destroying taboos, included Yegor’s approval of my idea that I interview for the newspaper Robert Conquest, the author of the famous but still banned history of the Stalinist terror, The Great Terror. A few weeks later, I did an interview with Valery Chalidze, then living in America, who had been stripped of his Soviet citizenship for his human rights work with Andrei Sakharov and other dissidents. Both interviews were published in Moskovskii Novosti in the spring of 1989. The stir they caused among Russian readers was fascinating to observe.