Benjamin Nathans [email protected] Please do not cite or circulate without author’s permission Tentative book title: To the Success of Our Hopeless Cause: A History of the Soviet Dissident Movement Part Four: FROM THE OTHER SHORE: AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL AND SOVIET DISSIDENTS Dear Colleagues, My apologies for submitting such a long excerpt from my book ms. and my thanks in advance for your comments and critique. This pair of chapters represents the most explicitly transnational part of my book; the rest is focused more internally on the intellectual and political history of rights-based dissent in the Soviet Union after Stalin. I look forward very much to our discussion on April 12. Best, Ben Nathans CHAPTER 8: OMBUDSMAN OF THE WORLD Does the Soviet dissident movement belong to the broader history of youth protest that enveloped much of the industrialized world in the 1960s? This notion has tempted historians of ideas and international relations alike. From Paris and Berlin to Prague and Moscow (and in one version, in Berkeley and Beijing as well), it has been argued that a new generation of “sophisticated rebels” developed an “international language of dissent,” a “lingua franca of protest,” an “international dissident culture,” leading in 1968 to a “global disruption.” 1 ------------------------------------ 1 H. Stuart Hughes, Sophisticated Rebels: The Political Culture of European Dissent, 1968-1987 (Cambridge, 1990), makes a relatively restrained case for a shared culture of protest that was “sophisticated in the sense of recognizing realistic limits and frequently defying conventional Nathans/From the Other Shore/p.2 For Soviet dissidents, something more than a shared language or a set of transnational family resemblances was at work. There were actual conversations and mutual influences, carried out via texts smuggled into and out of the USSR, arduous long-distance phone calls, and face-to-face meetings in the kitchens of Moscow apartments. But these conversations were not conducted with the Mario Savios and Daniel Cohn-Bendits and Rudi Dutschkes of the world, or with other student protesters in the aforementioned cities (with the partial exception of Prague). Rather, as I propose in the following pair of chapters, the dissident movement in the Soviet Union found its most engaging interlocutors in what were then relatively unknown western non- governmental organizations (NGOs). 2 Even at the non-governmental level, a common language across East and West was by no means a given; it had to be elaborated in fits and starts over the course of the decade after 1968, with only imperfect results. Insofar as a shared transnational language emerged, moreover, it was not one of youthful rebellion, anti-militarism, civil ------------------------------------ classification as right or left” (p. 13). The most recent interpretation of this apparently transnational political culture is by Jan-Werner Müller, Contesting Democracy: Political Ideas in Twentieth-Century Europe (New Haven, 2011), especially pp. 171-242. Jeremi Suri, Power and Protest: Global Revolution and the Rise of Détente (Cambridge, 2003) offers thought-provoking but empirically unsustainable arguments regarding a language and culture of dissent shared by student radicals in the west and their alleged counterparts in the Soviet Union and China (see especially pp. 3, 94, and 164). Suri’s argument about the political effects of an expanding post- war university population does not hold for the Soviet case, where in any event the majority of dissidents were well beyond their university years. His reading of Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (and his use of Solzhenitsyn as representative of the Soviet dissident movement as a whole) is egregiously wide of the mark: that novella neither “singled out Stalin for criticism” (it never mentions Stalin) nor offered a “condemnation of the communist political project” (Suri, 105), which, needless to say, would have torpedoed its publication, not to mention Khrushchev’s personal approval thereof. Suri’s central claim that a “social crisis of the nation- state” (211) helped usher in détente, that the latter “grew from a common urge for stability among leaders under attack at home” (2) simply doesn't work for Brezhnev’s Soviet Union, where the move toward détente was driven by the desire for geopolitical, technological, and economic gains and where détente itself was associated with heightened risk of ideological contamination from the West, and thus the possibility of social unrest. 2 These included professional organizations of western scientists, mathematicians, writers, and psychiatrists. On their mobilization on behalf of Soviet dissident colleagues, see Charles Rhéaume, Sakharov: Science, morale et politique (Laval [Canada], 2004). In contrast to Suri, Rhéaume’s work suggests that Sakharov and other dissidents had less in common with Berkeley students in the 1960s than with their politically engaged (physics) professors in the 1970s. Nathans/From the Other Shore/p.3 disobedience, or self-actualization, but the “thin” lingua franca of universal human rights and the rule of law. 3 Among the various NGOs that took an interest in the burgeoning protests and political trials in the USSR during the era of developed socialism, none would come to play as direct a role in the Soviet dissident movement as Amnesty International. Founded in London in 1961 by the attorney Peter Benenson, Amnesty introduced itself to the world as a “movement composed of peoples of all nationalities, politics, religions and social views who are determined to work together in defense of freedom of the mind.” 4 To give that lofty goal a human face, Amnesty focused its efforts on securing the release of specific individuals jailed solely for their opinions or beliefs, people it called “prisoners of conscience,” provided that they had not advocated or used violence. “Pressure of opinion a hundred years ago,” Benenson announced on the pages of the London Observer , “brought about the emancipation of the slaves. It is now for man to insist upon the same freedom for his mind as he has won for his body.” 5 To anchor their campaign, Benenson and his fellow activists, many of them lawyers and writers, invoked Articles 18 and 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the preeminent international rights document of the post-war era. Article 18 announced the universal right to “freedom of thought, conscience and religion,” including the right to manifest one’s belief “alone or in community with others and in public or private.” Article 19, on freedom of opinion and expression, declared the universal right “to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of ------------------------------------ 3 On human rights language as “thin description,” see Kenneth Cmiel, “The Emergence of Human Rights Politics in the United States,” Journal of American History vol. 86, no. 3 (Dec. 1999), pp. 1248-9. 4 Amnesty, First Annual Report, 1961-62 (London, 1962), p. 1. On the pre-history of Amnesty’s founding and Benenson’s early motives, see Tom Buchanan, “‘The Truth Will Set You Free’: The Making of Amnesty International,” Journal of Contemporary History , Vol. 37, No. 4 (Oct., 2002), pp. 575-97. For recent histories of Amnesty, see Stephen Hopgood, Keepers of the Flame: Understanding Amnesty International (Ithaca, 2006), and Jonathan Power, Like Water on Stone: The Story of Amnesty International (Boston, 2001). 5 Peter Benenson, “The Forgotten Prisoners,” The Observer (28 May 1961). Nathans/From the Other Shore/p.4 frontiers.” 6 Both were updated, internationalized versions of classic civil liberties articulated in the national contexts of the American and French revolutions. Adopted by the General Assembly of the United Nations in December 1948, the Universal Declaration was an aspirational document that lacked the force of law, let alone actual mechanisms of enforcement. It did not strengthen the document’s claim to universality when, having taken vigorous part in the drafting and editing process, the USSR abruptly abstained from the final vote, reflecting Stalin’s dawning realization that the Declaration could become a tool for foreign interference in Soviet internal affairs. It was not a supra-national entity like the United Nations that concerned the Soviet dictator. After all, Stalin had once famously mocked another such entity with the quip, “The Pope! How many divisions has he got?” 7 It was not paranoia but prescience that led Stalin to grasp that the Declaration could be deployed against the USSR by great powers such as the United States and Great Britain, Moscow’s emerging Cold War rivals. What neither Stalin nor anyone else seems to have intuited at the time, however, was that the Declaration - and its various elaborations over the course of the ensuing quarter-century - might be mobilized most effectively by divisionless organizations like Amnesty International, or indeed by Soviet citizens themselves. Notwithstanding its self-description as a movement composed of “peoples of all nationalities and religions,” for much of its early history Amnesty’s membership consisted almost exclusively of individuals from English-speaking countries and the Western half of Europe. Its annual dispatch of thousands of Christmas cards to prisoners of conscience around the world unintentionally exposed the gap between universal aspirations and an assumed Christian sensibility. 8 And yet, in its adoption of prisoners whose