Stalin (50 page)

Stalin showed his preference for tried and true methods during the famine of 1946–1947, when, as in 1932, draconian laws were enacted against the pilfering of state property. Two 4 June 1947 decrees provided for sentences ranging from five to twenty-five years in a camp for theft. Between 1947 and 1952, more than 2 million people were convicted of this charge. Many if not most were simply ordinary people who committed minor crimes in the face of great material deprivation. Parents who stole a loaf of bread for their hungry children were sentenced to many years in a camp. Mass repression was not limited to the prosecution of theft. Arrests for political crimes continued, and harsh laws were also put in place to combat violations of workplace discipline. Approximately 7 million such sentences, an average of 1 million per year, were handed down between 1946 and 1952.
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In Stalin’s last years, the Gulag grew into a sprawling network that played a central role in the life of the country. On 1 January 1953, more than 2.5 million people were being held in camps, penal colonies, and prisons. “Special settlements” in remote regions held another 2.8 million.
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Some 3 percent of the population was either incarcerated or under internal exile.
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Mass repression, in the form of large-scale arrests, executions, and internal exile, was now largely focused on the newly absorbed parts of the Soviet Union, where fierce guerrilla campaigns raged. Stalin received regular reports on the pacification of mutinous areas.
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For the years 1944–1952, according to incomplete official statistics, approximately a half million people were killed, arrested, or forcibly exiled from Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia, along with an equal number in the western provinces of Ukraine.
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For these small republics and provinces, whose populations totaled just a few million, these were astounding numbers. The Stalinist system had neither changed nor grown less repressive.

An important aspect of Stalin’s postwar consolidation of power was a return to routine shake-ups at the upper echelons of government and the preemptive humiliation of his devoted and obedient comrades. The stable leadership that had governed the country during the war was probably perceived by Stalin as a compromise necessitated by circumstances. Now that they had performed their tasks, he no longer needed influential marshals and members of the State Defense Committee. And as his physical state declined, his tendency toward suspicion grew.

On 9 October 1945 the Politburo adopted a resolution granting Stalin a vacation so that he could “rest for a month and a half.”
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This was his first trip to the south in nine years, and he may have left reluctantly. The foreign press was full of speculation. On 11 October he received a set of TASS news synopses regarding talk in the West about his poor health and the jockeying for position among potential successors. According to the summary, the
Chicago Tribune’s
London correspondent, citing diplomatic sources, wrote about a bitter behind-the-scenes power struggle between Zhukov and Molotov, both vying to replace Stalin. Zhukov was supposedly supported by the army and Molotov by the party apparat.
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A week later, the TASS synopsis included a statement by the Soviet ambassador in France: “Over the past ten months we have been asked fifteen times to confirm reports of Stalin’s death.” An article about Molotov in a Norwegian newspaper stated that “For public opinion in the U.S.A., England, and other freedom-loving peoples, Molotov represents a new, strong Soviet Union that demands the status of an equal among the world’s great powers.”
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Stalin was not mentioned. The article spoke only of his successors.

These foreign press reports reflected the Western view of the postwar configuration of power. The long and horrific war was receding into history, as were the leaders who had achieved victory. Roosevelt was dead. The defeat of the Conservative Party in Great Britain had sent Churchill into retirement. Stalin was aging and rumored to be ill. For the Western observer, these were all elements of the same coherent picture. Stalin, of course, did not share this view. Any hint that the Soviet leader might be replaced only heightened his indignation and suspicion, the brunt of which was borne by his closest comrades—primarily Molotov, as he was first on the list of possible successors. Attacks against Molotov were also a convenient pretext for another shake-up. The ruling Five throughout the war had consisted of Stalin, Molotov, Beria, Malenkov, and Mikoyan. This grouping had been in place uncomfortably long.

Stalin’s growing irritation with Molotov was on full display during the September 1945 meeting of the Council of Foreign Ministers in London, convened to discuss the new postwar order and peace terms with the vanquished countries.
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At the outset, Molotov took a liberty in regard to a procedural question. Yielding to a request by the Western Allies, he agreed that in addition to the Soviet Union, United States, and Great Britain, France and China would also be allowed to take part in the drafting of treaties. Under previous agreements, France and China were to be involved in designing terms only with Italy and Japan respectively. Molotov did not see a problem with this change, and strictly speaking there was none. France and China would only offer input on the treaties; they were not given any vote on their approval. Agreeing to this arrangement made perfect sense. Hoping for a productive meeting, Molotov did not want to waste time by provoking conflict over secondary questions.

His concession would likely have gone unremarked had the negotiations not reached a seemingly insuperable stalemate. Stalin demanded that the Soviet Union be given a real role in deciding the fate of Japan. The Western side would not even place that question on the agenda. Stalin demanded that one of Italy’s colonies in North Africa be placed under Soviet trusteeship, thus giving his country a solid foothold on the Mediterranean. The Western side refused. The sides also reached an impasse over Romania and Bulgaria. Considering these countries “satellites” (Stalin actually used the cognate in a telegram he sent to Molotov during the meeting), the Soviet authorities had already installed pro-Communist governments there.
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The United States and Great Britain refused to recognize these governments or sign any accords with them. Stalin decided to increase pressure on his partners, even when it looked as if talks might break down. The question about France and China, whose participation was supported by the United States and Great Britain, offered a convenient pretext. On 21 September Stalin reprimanded Molotov for his procedural concession, and Molotov repented: “I admit that I committed a grave oversight. I will take immediate measures.”
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The following day he withdrew his agreement. The Western Allies were enraged. On the surface it looked as if this simple procedural question had brought the talks to a standstill.

This incident vividly illustrates Stalin’s manipulative personality. While cultivating the image of a moderate and predictable politician in the eyes of his fellow Allies, he forced his comrades to do his dirty work. He was incensed when Molotov revealed that the withdrawal of consent for France’s and China’s participation came on his orders. For a long time afterward he reminded Molotov of this and similar instances, accusing him of trying to present himself as a reasonable alternative to the inflexibility of “the Soviet government and Stalin.”
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These potshots at Molotov were a sign that a more serious attack was on the way. An essential role was played in this drama by the TASS summaries of the foreign press, which Stalin pored over during his vacation. Molotov’s troubles began with a 1 December 1945 news item by a correspondent for Britain’s
Daily Herald,
reporting rumors that Stalin might be stepping down as chairman of the Council of People’s Commissars and that Molotov might resume that post. The TASS summary quoted the correspondent as saying that the political leadership of the Soviet Union was currently in Molotov’s hands, with general directives from the Politburo.
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For Molotov, nothing could have been more damaging, especially when Stalin was out of Moscow for the first time in years. Furious, on 2 December Stalin telephoned Molotov to demand that more stringent censorship be exercised over the dispatches sent out by foreign correspondents. Molotov gave the foreign affairs commissariat’s press office the appropriate orders.
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The next day, however, there was a bureaucratic snafu. The TASS summary for 3 December included a
New York Times
piece that had been published on 1 December, before Stalin’s order to tighten control. The
Times
item, like the
Daily Herald
article, hinted at discord among the Soviet leadership and a weakening of Stalin’s position.
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Stalin read the TASS account of the
Times
article on 5 December. Apparently that same day he read a 3 December Reuters report that mentioned a relaxing of censorship in regard to foreign correspondents in the USSR. The press agency claimed that after Western journalists collectively had complained to the Soviet authorities, Molotov had said to an American at a 7 November reception, “I know that you correspondents want to get rid of Russian censorship. What would you say if I agreed to this on condition of reciprocity?” A few days later, according to Reuters, the Western press corps actually did see signs of relaxed control.
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These reports gave Stalin more than enough ammunition to charge Molotov with scheming against him. On 5 December the
vozhd
sent Molotov, Beria, Mikoyan, and Malenkov a telegram demanding that the matter be investigated.
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The following day the four sent Stalin a detailed response. The
New York Times
article had a simple explanation. It had gone through censorship on 30 November, three days before Stalin asked Molotov to tighten control. The explanation for the Reuters report was just as persuasive. Molotov really had ordered a relaxation of censorship in November since the censors “often unnecessarily marked out individual words and expressions in the telegrams sent by foreign correspondents.” As for the conversation at the 7 November reception, Molotov claimed that “words were attributed to him that he did not say.”
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After receiving this response, Stalin went into a rage, either genuine or feigned. That same day, 6 December, he sent a sharply worded telegram to Moscow. Ignoring all the reasonable arguments offered by the four, he stated that Molotov bore the blame for the appearance of “libels against the Soviet government” in the foreign press. Furthermore, Molotov’s liberal attitude toward foreign correspondents represented an intentional effort to change “the course of our policies.” After accusing Malenkov, Beria, and Mikoyan of connivance, Stalin directed extremely harsh words at Molotov. “I am convinced that Molotov does not care about the interests of our state and the prestige of our government,” he wrote, “so long as he gains popularity within certain foreign circles. I can no longer consider such a comrade to be my first deputy.” To add insult to injury, Stalin sent his telegram only to Malenkov, Beria, and Mikoyan, asking them to summon Molotov and read him its contents but not give him a copy. The reason he gave was extremely insulting to Molotov: “I did not send [the telegram] to Molotov since I have doubts about some of those close to him.”
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This telegram contained the strongest accusations Stalin had ever made against a member of his inner circle (unless, of course, we include the Politburo members whom he had executed). The four men were undoubtedly frightened. On 7 December Beria, Malenkov, and Mikoyan sent Stalin a coded telegram in which they reported on the firm approach they had taken in dealing with their associate. “We summoned Molotov to us and read him the telegram in full. After pausing to think, Molotov said that he had made a lot of mistakes but felt that mistrust toward him was unjust, and then he began to cry.”
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There is no way to know whether they were describing this confrontation accurately. This was a drama played out for one spectator who was not even in the theater. What mattered was not the drama itself but the account of how the confrontation was handled, which had to be designed to satisfy Stalin. Molotov played along. That same day he sent Stalin his own telegram: “Your coded telegram was filled with deep mistrust toward me as a Bolshevik and a man, which I take as the most serious party warning for all my work going forward, wherever that might be. I will try through my deeds to earn your trust, in which every honest Bolshevik sees not simply personal trust, but the trust of the party, which is dearer to me than my life.”
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Judging by the correspondence that followed, Stalin felt that he had achieved the desired effect. He clearly knew that Molotov’s “crimes” had no significance, and his underling had never disobeyed any direct instruction. Molotov had simply used his own discretion on occasions when Stalin’s long-distance guidance was intermittent and vague.

The Molotov scandal was dropped quickly because its true purpose lay elsewhere: Stalin wanted to make changes to the top leadership. He began this reorganization as soon as he returned to Moscow. On 29 December 1945 he brought his old comrade Andrei Zhdanov into the inner circle. The Five were now Six. In October 1946, Nikolai Voznesensky was also admitted to the group, meaning that the country was now governed by the Seven.
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The return of the “Leningraders”—Zhdanov and Voznesensky—into Stalin’s inner circle provoked competition within the Politburo. Malenkov and Beria, who had pushed the Leningraders aside during the war, were now forced to concede power to them. In May 1946 Stalin removed Malenkov from the post of Central Committee secretary, accusing him of covering up irregularities in the aviation industry, which had been his portfolio during the war. Malenkov’s responsibilities overseeing the Central Committee apparat were handed over to Zhdanov. Around the same time, a blow was struck against Beria. Stalin forced Beria’s protégé, Minister for State Security Vsevolod Merkulov, to resign his post in disgrace.
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A dangerous development was that Stalin appointed the former head of military counterintelligence, Viktor Abakumov, with whom Beria did not get along, to take Merkulov’s place.
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According to the rules of Stalinist shake-ups, the new minister was expected to uncover misconduct or—better yet—crimes by his predecessor. Abakumov was well suited to this role. Both Merkulov and Beria were clearly in danger. As Merkulov attested after Stalin’s death, “The story of my departure from the Ministry of State Security gave Beria a number of unpleasant moments. Beria himself told me that because of me he was in trouble with Comrade Stalin.”
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