On this page:
- The Man Who Had Funny Hands
- Scarred Bodies, Broken Psyches under Soviet Communism - Marx Got Economics Right, Comrade
- America, America, I Love You, Let Me Count the Ways
- Cracking the Genetic Code: Stalin’s New Soviet Man
- Ho Chi Minh: Communist Words versus Communist Deeds
- Why the Communists Make War on Religion
- Walmart’s T-shirt homage to mass murder
- DOWN WITH THE WORMS! - ‘Confront, Harass, Create a Crowd, and Push Back!’ (Maxine learned it from Fidel)
- Uncle Joe and Anti-Anticommunism - Deflating Nostalgia for the Golden Age of Terror
- Revolutionary Communists Capturing Hearts and Minds Inside Prison and Out
- Buddhist Letter Implores New U.S. Ambassador to Support Religious Freedom in Vietnam
- A Happy Life in China (YouTube Exchange)
- Socialism’s Cruel Illusion - Feeding the Body, Starving the Spirit
- I Was There: The Monstrous Atrocities that Marxism Has Committed Against Humankind
- Socialist Serfs Reduced to Bartering for Aspirin in Cuba
- Great Leap Backward: Human Rights and Rule of Law in China
- Import Drugs from Cuba? NO WAY!
- “Reflections on a Ravaged Century” (conference report)
- Why Are Communist Atrocities Ignored?
- The Brutality of the Berlin Wall
- WHAT CUBANS HAVEN'T LOST and WEATHER FORECAST FOR CUBA (gallows humor)
The Man Who Had Funny Hands
- Scarred Bodies, Broken Psyches under Soviet Communism
by Christopher Szabo
October 7, 2019
PERMALINK
I grew up among refugees. My parents had fled from Communist Hungary after the 1956 Revolution was crushed by the Soviet Union. We had many Hungarian friends, but also knew people from Albania, East Germany, and Poland. All had their stories, the one more dreadful than the other.
I remember one story among many, when we visited a couple, let’s call them “Joe” and “Cathy”. When we were leaving, thinking they were out of earshot, I blurted out: “Why does Uncle Joe have funny hands?” My mother hushed me quickly and the whole thing was forgotten. But some years later, when I was old enough to be counted among the adults, the same Joe was telling some of his stories.
He had studied to be a priest but had left the seminary before finishing. I don’t know why he left, it might have coincided with the Communist takeover, or not, I don’t know. But he was arrested one day because of his ties to religion.
The Soviet goal was to initiate a Five-Year Plan aimed at undermining religious belief that was supposed to destroy religious thinking in two generations. They nationalised (stole) churches, lands, monasteries, and schools. They banned religious education, religious orders were dissolved, and some 1,500-2,000 people were formally sentenced on trumped up “charges”. One out of every four Catholic priests or monks were imprisoned.
Uncle Joe was not formally charged, sentenced, or any of that fancy bourgeois nonsense. He was just arrested and tortured. He was accused of being part of the “clerical reaction”. This “reaction” meant anyone who was not OK with the introduction of Communism, with its value-free and anti-humanist message.
Uncle Joe talked about the torture. He was beaten and thrown into a cell. Later, he was taken out and interrogated about his “fellow conspirators”. (Because the Communists were conspirators themselves, they saw conspiracies everywhere.) Of course, there was no conspiracy and Uncle Joe was at this point an ordinary factory worker. He was a fitter and turner, in other words, precisely the social class Marxism is supposed to help.
What surprised me was some of the tortures used on him. The reason he had ‘funny hands’ was they hit his hands with iron bars and tore some of his fingernails out. Some had grown back (sort of), some not. But the one that I would never have made up was hitting the soles of his feet. He described that they’d put him on a table, take his shoes and socks off, and hit the soles of his feet with truncheons. He said that was worse than the fingernails.
“Uncle Joe”, as we’ve called him, was one of many people I knew who experienced the joys of Communism, who lived in the “Worker’s State”, and who was himself a real worker, but who experienced the reality of Marxism-Leninism. Thank goodness it’s all over and nobody believes in that claptrap anymore!
___________________________________________________
Christopher Szabo is a freelance journalist in Pretoria, South Africa
- Scarred Bodies, Broken Psyches under Soviet Communism
by Christopher Szabo
October 7, 2019
PERMALINK
I grew up among refugees. My parents had fled from Communist Hungary after the 1956 Revolution was crushed by the Soviet Union. We had many Hungarian friends, but also knew people from Albania, East Germany, and Poland. All had their stories, the one more dreadful than the other.
I remember one story among many, when we visited a couple, let’s call them “Joe” and “Cathy”. When we were leaving, thinking they were out of earshot, I blurted out: “Why does Uncle Joe have funny hands?” My mother hushed me quickly and the whole thing was forgotten. But some years later, when I was old enough to be counted among the adults, the same Joe was telling some of his stories.
He had studied to be a priest but had left the seminary before finishing. I don’t know why he left, it might have coincided with the Communist takeover, or not, I don’t know. But he was arrested one day because of his ties to religion.
The Soviet goal was to initiate a Five-Year Plan aimed at undermining religious belief that was supposed to destroy religious thinking in two generations. They nationalised (stole) churches, lands, monasteries, and schools. They banned religious education, religious orders were dissolved, and some 1,500-2,000 people were formally sentenced on trumped up “charges”. One out of every four Catholic priests or monks were imprisoned.
Uncle Joe was not formally charged, sentenced, or any of that fancy bourgeois nonsense. He was just arrested and tortured. He was accused of being part of the “clerical reaction”. This “reaction” meant anyone who was not OK with the introduction of Communism, with its value-free and anti-humanist message.
Uncle Joe talked about the torture. He was beaten and thrown into a cell. Later, he was taken out and interrogated about his “fellow conspirators”. (Because the Communists were conspirators themselves, they saw conspiracies everywhere.) Of course, there was no conspiracy and Uncle Joe was at this point an ordinary factory worker. He was a fitter and turner, in other words, precisely the social class Marxism is supposed to help.
What surprised me was some of the tortures used on him. The reason he had ‘funny hands’ was they hit his hands with iron bars and tore some of his fingernails out. Some had grown back (sort of), some not. But the one that I would never have made up was hitting the soles of his feet. He described that they’d put him on a table, take his shoes and socks off, and hit the soles of his feet with truncheons. He said that was worse than the fingernails.
“Uncle Joe”, as we’ve called him, was one of many people I knew who experienced the joys of Communism, who lived in the “Worker’s State”, and who was himself a real worker, but who experienced the reality of Marxism-Leninism. Thank goodness it’s all over and nobody believes in that claptrap anymore!
___________________________________________________
Christopher Szabo is a freelance journalist in Pretoria, South Africa
Marx Got Economics Right, Comrade
Talk at the Heritage Foundation
by Darian Diachok
ACAT Speakers Bureau
July 2, 2019
PERMALINK
Why is Communism relevant today? Ignorance! Just ask around. You may be shocked to find that nearly no one under twenty-five has ever heard of Stalin, whose genocide exceeded Hitler's by a factor of five.
Communism is being repackaged in this atmosphere of ignorance. Films like “Motorcycle Diaries” and “Young Marx” portray Che and Marx as wise, prophetic figures fighting for mankind's betterment. Idealistic youth is responding enthusiastically in their need for heroes. If you travel abroad, say to India or South America, you can see full-scale marches complete with red banners and portraits of Stalin.
How do you get through to the youth? Philosophical arguments? Theism versus atheism? We can argue these issues, but let’s for a moment examine the one thing Marx was sure he got right – economics – economics, where the rubber meets the road, the proof of the pudding, so to speak.
Brief review: The worldwide Communist Revolution began when Marx published the Labor Theory of Value – a theory that seemed intuitively obvious to lots of folks – that employers exploit the laborers they hire. Specifically, Marx said that the price of a product comes from the labor to produce it, and that therefore the laborer, and not the employer, is entitled to the proceeds. He dreamed of a world where no one exploited anyone else. Borrowing from Hegel, Marx believed history was evolving through a series of political convulsions from private ownership to communal ownership – toward a utopia where all of mankind equitably shared the fruits of labor.
Curiously, Marx didn’t specify how this new utopia would function – but he did paint the most negative picture of the institutions that he believed stood in the way: the worst offenders being, free enterprise, the rule of law, the family, and religion. Only a final violent convulsion could overthrow these institutions. And once the Revolution came, the State, run by idealistic Marxists, would set up the new economy. But until utopia materialized, the State could not permit the individual any economic freedom, since individual enterprise would lead back to exploitation. The State also had to eliminate anyone at all who opposed it.
All of this seems fanciful and even crazy, but it’s exactly how Communist revolutionaries thought – and still think. How did this theory work out in practice?
When we first arrived in 1993 in the Former Soviet Union, two years after the fall of Communism, things seemed familiar – men wore ties, women skirts, people drove on the right side and used forks and knives. But there were hints that things were radically different. My Ukrainian co-worker’s daughter was bitten in the face by a dog in school. He left immediately – to apologize and to pay a hefty fine. Why? The dog represented State authority and the girl must have been misbehaving. That same week, a shopkeeper slapped my son for touching a toy. Why? In an economy of scarcity, the customer must be on his best behavior if he hopes to make a purchase. And one day I bought my wife the only iron I could find, but one almost too heavy for her to lift. Why too heavy? Let’s get back to the Communist Revolution to understand.
After the brief revolutionary euphoria in 1917, no one quite knew what to do next. Slogans about creating a new world were fine but people needed specific incentives. How, exactly, were they going to reach this utopia? The new rulers’ appalling incompetence – they had assumed that destroying the old institutions would produce instantaneous brotherhood – their incompetence quickly produced nothing but scarcity and famine, with the Army called out again and again to shoot protesters.
The Communists regrouped and finally created incentives – a system of artificial quotas. One State organ would set production quotas for every single item – from ball bearings to trucks – another would distribute them. The rules for managers? Reach your quota or face the consequences, firing or prison. Meet your quotas and good things happen. Oh, yes, and the State would set all prices to avoid “exploitation”. Okay, but one major problem – the complexity of the economy far exceeds any planner’s ability to accurately model it. Totally planned economies inevitably produce shortages of some goods and overproduction of others.
In this new system, factory managers rarely got all they needed to make their quotas. So, they learned to informally wheel and deal to get missing parts. A factory in Kazakhstan might have extra glass; one in Kiev might have extra batteries. Eventually, an underground bartering system developed – but in secret, since no one could accuse the State of incompetence and live to tell about it. It is estimated that half of the Soviet Union’s rail freight eventually shuttled illicit goods back and forth to make monthly quotas. It was like that when we arrived – with managers keeping two sets of books – one for State inspectors; the other for themselves.
Managers learned other tricks. For example, some factories welded heavy pig iron plates to the bottom of sewing machines and even radios to increase their weight to make their tonnage quotas. Production therefore became a numbers game where quality mattered little. Soviet emigres estimate that about a quarter of all Soviet production was pure junk, another quarter useful if repaired; another quarter sort of serviceable, and the top quarter reserved for the military and the Party.
Quotas also controlled mining. Whereas Western firms extract hydrocarbons only from fields that give a profit on investment, Soviet enterprises ignore operating costs. Costs of labor and equipment were artificially set anyway. Our teams were stunned to find that Soviet engineers had never even heard of the concept of economically recoverable reserves. They simply extracted to meet quota regardless of cost. It became clear that realistic profit and loss in the Soviet Union was impossible to calculate. The economy operated in the dark and was kept artificially afloat – a recipe for bankruptcy.
In our work with Moldova, for example, the chief accountant for the country’s powerplants explained that management conducts yearly inventories and simply transfers funds to plants running at a loss – which eliminates any incentive to improve operations.
Finally, in retail outlets like bookstores, shopkeepers learned to hoard bestsellers as barter for hard-to-get items, like milk. In short, everyone at every level learned to game the system – to survive.
The Soviet Union finally collapsed of its own weight in 1991 – with State enterprises, like the powerplants we worked with, left bankrupt, about to fail. But despite the collapse, the economic system still lives on in the minds of its victims, the people who were supposed to be led to utopia.
I’d say we encountered good people, sincere people, but with a deeply imbedded culture of corruption that the system itself created. We all detected a tendency for ex-Soviets to tell us exactly we wanted to hear. Under the old system, they had learned to toe the line, to pretend to be on board, but to go around us and to milk the system for everything it was worth.
Perhaps the most disturbing legacy we found was management’s inability to plan, to set priorities and to develop realistic workplans – I suppose because taking such initiatives had been severely punished and even called, “guerilla warfare against the prerogatives of the State.” Initiative, such as it was, was limited to scheming for whatever you could finagle for yourself and your family.
In addition to the unworkable economics and a devastated environment, we knew the Communist system constantly eliminated the best people since it wouldn’t tolerate independent thought and action. It also forbid independent literature and art, and any open inquiry, all of which led to a gray, pervasive cynicism – still a legacy; and finally, it forbade religion – but without providing a substitute for mankind’s perennial concerns about the realm of the spirit and of life after death.
Today, no honest economist takes Marx seriously. Yet we're seeing a wave of Socialists and would-be-Communists surging into the political light, to the applause of a generation raised in historical ignorance. I pray that we can show this youth – this youth that believes in universal brotherhood and social justice – that these pied pipers can never lead them to a utopia.
---------------------------------
Darian Diachok has been working in international development for several decades, with major postings in the Former Soviet Union. This piece appears as a chapter in his book, Escapes: A True Story, available on Amazon.
Talk at the Heritage Foundation
by Darian Diachok
ACAT Speakers Bureau
July 2, 2019
PERMALINK
Why is Communism relevant today? Ignorance! Just ask around. You may be shocked to find that nearly no one under twenty-five has ever heard of Stalin, whose genocide exceeded Hitler's by a factor of five.
Communism is being repackaged in this atmosphere of ignorance. Films like “Motorcycle Diaries” and “Young Marx” portray Che and Marx as wise, prophetic figures fighting for mankind's betterment. Idealistic youth is responding enthusiastically in their need for heroes. If you travel abroad, say to India or South America, you can see full-scale marches complete with red banners and portraits of Stalin.
How do you get through to the youth? Philosophical arguments? Theism versus atheism? We can argue these issues, but let’s for a moment examine the one thing Marx was sure he got right – economics – economics, where the rubber meets the road, the proof of the pudding, so to speak.
Brief review: The worldwide Communist Revolution began when Marx published the Labor Theory of Value – a theory that seemed intuitively obvious to lots of folks – that employers exploit the laborers they hire. Specifically, Marx said that the price of a product comes from the labor to produce it, and that therefore the laborer, and not the employer, is entitled to the proceeds. He dreamed of a world where no one exploited anyone else. Borrowing from Hegel, Marx believed history was evolving through a series of political convulsions from private ownership to communal ownership – toward a utopia where all of mankind equitably shared the fruits of labor.
Curiously, Marx didn’t specify how this new utopia would function – but he did paint the most negative picture of the institutions that he believed stood in the way: the worst offenders being, free enterprise, the rule of law, the family, and religion. Only a final violent convulsion could overthrow these institutions. And once the Revolution came, the State, run by idealistic Marxists, would set up the new economy. But until utopia materialized, the State could not permit the individual any economic freedom, since individual enterprise would lead back to exploitation. The State also had to eliminate anyone at all who opposed it.
All of this seems fanciful and even crazy, but it’s exactly how Communist revolutionaries thought – and still think. How did this theory work out in practice?
When we first arrived in 1993 in the Former Soviet Union, two years after the fall of Communism, things seemed familiar – men wore ties, women skirts, people drove on the right side and used forks and knives. But there were hints that things were radically different. My Ukrainian co-worker’s daughter was bitten in the face by a dog in school. He left immediately – to apologize and to pay a hefty fine. Why? The dog represented State authority and the girl must have been misbehaving. That same week, a shopkeeper slapped my son for touching a toy. Why? In an economy of scarcity, the customer must be on his best behavior if he hopes to make a purchase. And one day I bought my wife the only iron I could find, but one almost too heavy for her to lift. Why too heavy? Let’s get back to the Communist Revolution to understand.
After the brief revolutionary euphoria in 1917, no one quite knew what to do next. Slogans about creating a new world were fine but people needed specific incentives. How, exactly, were they going to reach this utopia? The new rulers’ appalling incompetence – they had assumed that destroying the old institutions would produce instantaneous brotherhood – their incompetence quickly produced nothing but scarcity and famine, with the Army called out again and again to shoot protesters.
The Communists regrouped and finally created incentives – a system of artificial quotas. One State organ would set production quotas for every single item – from ball bearings to trucks – another would distribute them. The rules for managers? Reach your quota or face the consequences, firing or prison. Meet your quotas and good things happen. Oh, yes, and the State would set all prices to avoid “exploitation”. Okay, but one major problem – the complexity of the economy far exceeds any planner’s ability to accurately model it. Totally planned economies inevitably produce shortages of some goods and overproduction of others.
In this new system, factory managers rarely got all they needed to make their quotas. So, they learned to informally wheel and deal to get missing parts. A factory in Kazakhstan might have extra glass; one in Kiev might have extra batteries. Eventually, an underground bartering system developed – but in secret, since no one could accuse the State of incompetence and live to tell about it. It is estimated that half of the Soviet Union’s rail freight eventually shuttled illicit goods back and forth to make monthly quotas. It was like that when we arrived – with managers keeping two sets of books – one for State inspectors; the other for themselves.
Managers learned other tricks. For example, some factories welded heavy pig iron plates to the bottom of sewing machines and even radios to increase their weight to make their tonnage quotas. Production therefore became a numbers game where quality mattered little. Soviet emigres estimate that about a quarter of all Soviet production was pure junk, another quarter useful if repaired; another quarter sort of serviceable, and the top quarter reserved for the military and the Party.
Quotas also controlled mining. Whereas Western firms extract hydrocarbons only from fields that give a profit on investment, Soviet enterprises ignore operating costs. Costs of labor and equipment were artificially set anyway. Our teams were stunned to find that Soviet engineers had never even heard of the concept of economically recoverable reserves. They simply extracted to meet quota regardless of cost. It became clear that realistic profit and loss in the Soviet Union was impossible to calculate. The economy operated in the dark and was kept artificially afloat – a recipe for bankruptcy.
In our work with Moldova, for example, the chief accountant for the country’s powerplants explained that management conducts yearly inventories and simply transfers funds to plants running at a loss – which eliminates any incentive to improve operations.
Finally, in retail outlets like bookstores, shopkeepers learned to hoard bestsellers as barter for hard-to-get items, like milk. In short, everyone at every level learned to game the system – to survive.
The Soviet Union finally collapsed of its own weight in 1991 – with State enterprises, like the powerplants we worked with, left bankrupt, about to fail. But despite the collapse, the economic system still lives on in the minds of its victims, the people who were supposed to be led to utopia.
I’d say we encountered good people, sincere people, but with a deeply imbedded culture of corruption that the system itself created. We all detected a tendency for ex-Soviets to tell us exactly we wanted to hear. Under the old system, they had learned to toe the line, to pretend to be on board, but to go around us and to milk the system for everything it was worth.
Perhaps the most disturbing legacy we found was management’s inability to plan, to set priorities and to develop realistic workplans – I suppose because taking such initiatives had been severely punished and even called, “guerilla warfare against the prerogatives of the State.” Initiative, such as it was, was limited to scheming for whatever you could finagle for yourself and your family.
In addition to the unworkable economics and a devastated environment, we knew the Communist system constantly eliminated the best people since it wouldn’t tolerate independent thought and action. It also forbid independent literature and art, and any open inquiry, all of which led to a gray, pervasive cynicism – still a legacy; and finally, it forbade religion – but without providing a substitute for mankind’s perennial concerns about the realm of the spirit and of life after death.
Today, no honest economist takes Marx seriously. Yet we're seeing a wave of Socialists and would-be-Communists surging into the political light, to the applause of a generation raised in historical ignorance. I pray that we can show this youth – this youth that believes in universal brotherhood and social justice – that these pied pipers can never lead them to a utopia.
---------------------------------
Darian Diachok has been working in international development for several decades, with major postings in the Former Soviet Union. This piece appears as a chapter in his book, Escapes: A True Story, available on Amazon.
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America, America,
I Love You, Let Me Count the Ways Survivors of Communism Travel Different Paths Together – Destination: America! |
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by Klara Sever and Agustin Blazquez with the collaboration of Jaums Sutton
Klara Sever and Agustin Blazquez are members of the Anticommunism Action Team Speakers Bureau.
Klara is celebrating 50 years in America, having left Czechoslovakia soon after the Soviet tanks rolled in.
Agustin fled Cuba in 1965 after Castro’s promises of democracy gave way to a ghastly new reality.
Klara Sever and Agustin Blazquez are members of the Anticommunism Action Team Speakers Bureau.
Klara is celebrating 50 years in America, having left Czechoslovakia soon after the Soviet tanks rolled in.
Agustin fled Cuba in 1965 after Castro’s promises of democracy gave way to a ghastly new reality.
PERMALINK
America, America, I Love You, Let Me Count the Ways (Klara)
1. For welcoming hordes of people that you never knew existed. As a matter of fact, we never laid our eyes on persons of so many colors from yellow to charcoal black. They were mingling around purposefully while we were nervously looking around the huge hall of the airport, hoping to spot our friends. What if they are not waiting anymore? The plane was many hours late. Oh, there they are, our only familiar piece of the old world that we let behind.
2. For sharing the freedom that was not free; many paid for it with their lives and many still will in order to keep it. I will never forget--I stopped for the red light and realized the car ahead of me was carrying a casket covered by an American flag. My heart skipped a beat. Vietnam was still raging. Somebody’s son, brother or husband died for this country, died for me, too. I just got here, did not contribute much. He died, so this country could remain free. How could one repay that?
3. For giving most privileges to newcomers as soon as we step on your shores. I only later learned that whoever steps on America’s soil is considered an American. Of course, there are advantages that come with citizenship, but opportunities abound, just like a born American.
4. For the freedom to pray to their God in any language. President Washington welcomed Jewish immigrants and stressed that they are considered a valued addition to the young Republic.
5. For the freedom of thought, speech and to publish them. For us, coming from a country where all those were punishable by law; all were censored activities.
6. For freedom of movement. After we received our green cards we wanted to visit our good friends in Canada. A bit apprehensive, we asked around and learned that we needed to take proper documents, mainly for entry back into the U.S. When leaving the U.S. we tried to give the guard our green cards. He just asked where we are going and then asked all of us to say that “We are Americans”. Stunned, we obeyed. He wished us a nice trip and waived us on. What a country! Your word is your passport.
7. For the freedom to pursue your trade. When I found a company that reproduced sculptures, the owner glanced at my photos, asked a few questions and told me to start on Monday. I thanked him and asked for a letter of employment. He just looked at me: ”What letter, my word is not enough for you? Obviously you do not want this job.” ”Oh no, sir, I do.” “So, show up Monday, that's it.” I worked for him for 13 years.
8. For the freedom to educate your children as you see fit. Our younger son joined the Boy Scouts and we received a questionnaire asking about his church affiliation. Fresh out of the country where joining any church could result in peril, I explained our situation and the scout master asked me a simple question: “Do you believe that your son is honest, caring, loves his family and is ready to become a scout?” I agreed and again left shaking my head.
9. Freedom to vote for your representatives. After decades voting together with the rest of the 99.9 percent for only one candidate, I couldn't wait to get my chance.
10. For freedom to seek equal justice, where you are considered innocent until proven guilty. Where I came from, it was the opposite.
Real Surrealism (Agustin)
I came from a country which, in 1959, had the opportunity for a fundamental transformation to Socialism. We were told by the government and the media that equality and social justice will reign. However the government began taking away freedoms. It quickly became a surreal nightmare. We lived in fear 24/7. The government suddenly changed the currency and took all but $5,000 from all bank accounts. People lost their savings. That was “equality” and “social justice.” Soon, food, clothing and everything else became scarce. “This can't happen here.” But it did.
The government imposed a rationing book for all necessities. But, after waiting in long lines, usually there was nothing left. Schools of all denominations were confiscated by the government. Parents lost their right to educate their children. The government began to indoctrinate children to form loyal tools of the government as the idea of “family” was destroyed. There were massive executions--broadcast on TV to instill fear. Jails were filled to much more than capacity with anyone who didn't like the new Socialist system. Concentration and labor camps appeared for LGBT and other communities. Others were put in mental institutions, or just mysteriously disappeared.
Most medicines disappeared from stores and pharmacies. People became dependent on relatives abroad for medicine but the government always kept half. The best hospitals were reserved for the government and their new loyal elite. But that elite has to be very careful, looking over their shoulders 24/7 because privileges given can be taken away. Some managed to escape at great risk, many died trying. Little did we know that Socialism was going to destroy my former country.
August 1968 (Klara)
A suffocating summer night. Nervously waiting for results of the Soviet-Czechoslovak negotiations. A horrible noise and a burst of light shook me back to reality. Under our window stood a Soviet tank, a young soldier with a red star on his cap was trying to read a map. This can't happen in my country, but the Russians are here.
Going to America (Agustin)
I left the country where I was born and educated in 1965 for Canada. After living in Montreal for three months, I went to Paris where it was legal for me to work—I cleaned floors and applied for U.S. residence. I also needed get an American family to sponsor me and provide a legal “Affidavit of Support”. I had not been convicted of any crimes, used drugs or been a member of any subversive group. I had to pass a medical examination to prove that I didn't have any contagious disease. Since I came from a communist country and knew the horrors of that inhumane system, I was very glad that the U.S. didn't allow Communist Party members.
The process to come here was fine with me, the minimum for a country to protect itself and its citizens, from crimes, political nightmares and contagious illness. A friend that applied with me was denied U.S. residence because his x-ray showed a spot on the lungs. He came two years later after it was resolved.
In July 1967, I arrived to the U.S. I got my Social Security card and began working as a dishwasher in a hospital in Washington, DC and later at a department store building displays for the windows. The America I saw was a melting pot of different nationalities striving to be Americans and living in harmony with the laws and culture. I love and I'm proud of America because it's a country that opens its doors and gives you a second chance to begin a new life with freedom of choice.
I don't think it's right or fair to enter the U.S. illegally and not integrate to this society, not learn English. To continue living as if you were still in the country where you came from, trying to impose the culture, religion and laws of your former country and pretend that American citizens adapt to yours is destructive to everyone. That is not a positive immigration. That creates tribal division that lets you be used by unscrupulous politicians and harm us all. Why did you come to this country if you want to continue living like in the country you escaped? Hell no, I don't want to go back to my former country, not even as a tourist.
Paris (Klara)
Two weeks after the tank arrived, our small family is standing on the Austrian border. The silhouette of our town’s iconic castle is now small. “You are not going to look back to see your country for the last time?” asked my husband. I could not look; my vision was completely obstructed by my tears. At that moment I recalled “Man without a Country” the story of a young officer of the American Navy. We are now “People without a country”.
The first night in Vienna, sleeping on the hard floor of the school was a very good entry path for the migrants. Our boys were playing with their little cars, but my husband, nervous by nature, was walking the corridors of the school, smoking. His reporter's mind was mapping our next move. Next stop: American Agency for refugees. There he was briefed on our future. We can’t stay in Vienna, too close. “By the way, keep your little boy close, there were cases of Russians snatching children.” Also, we could wait for America in two places, Italy or France. He spoke some French, but getting the visas was very difficult.
Next stop: French Embassy. To this day we count this achievement among the top! Miraculously, with the French visa we drove thru Germany and crossed Strasbourg into “Sweet France”.
Paris, City of lights and immigrants. Well, we got lost. Finally my husband found the French agency for refugees. New rules, support for a three month of stay renewable, but we believed we’d be on our way to the U.S. by then. Not so fast! We stayed in Paris for six months.
France keeps all their laws, even the Napoleonic ones. You can’t get a permit to work without the permit to stay, and the other way around. You can’t get to the U.S. without a sponsor who guarantees that you are not going to become a burden to the State. Most of our new friends already had their permits, happily starting to pack while we were still hanging on, not knowing what our future would be. Our New Year’s celebration with a bunch of refugees from assorted countries was bittersweet. We were happy for our friends leaving, but our outlook was still hopeless. We were hanging on to “next year in New York!”
In the meantime my husband met with a reporter from Paris Soir who sent him to Vienna to interview refugees. The newspaper published his articles, which got the attention of the press attaché at the American Embassy. A meeting ended with an invitation for my husband to call Washington as soon as we arrived.
Finally, that day came; we went for the interview, then, complete check-up, which unfortunately, I did not pass. As a smoker, my lungs showed some irregularities. There was to be another examination and if I don’t pass, I will have to stay behind. After a few nerve wracking days, all clear!
Moving on. My husband and I contracted a nasty flu. With high fever, barely controlled by huge portions of quinine, we arrived in Brussels to get on an El Al plane to the States. Under strong scrutiny due to the attack on the Israeli Olympians, finally, we took off.
Goodbye, Europe . . . (Klara)
From the plane’s window we tracked the countries we flew over. The plane made a stop in England, but we were not allowed to enter the airport. Our status of “people without a country” hung over us like a dark cloud. . . We are getting close. . . Canada and . . .
New York, here we come!
Welcome to America in a Taxi (Klara)
After an arduous flight halfway around the globe, we finally met with our dear friends at the JFK airport in New York, March, 1969. In a New York taxi, a friendly driver asked if we had come to the U.S. to visit. The answer: “Oh, no! We want to stay here.” “Well, that's great. Welcome to America!” was his surprising reply. Even in our country, where we were born and which we loved, our presence was, at best, merely tolerated. After waiting six months in Paris and the long hours of questioning at the sûreté générale there, we did not expect such a welcome. After all, we were refugees from a communist country, in transit. Being a family without a country for six months, we were surprised and delighted to be welcomed in America.
Going to Jean-Paul Sartre's Film (Agustin)
After a play rehearsal, I left for the official Film Institute to see The Respectful Prostitute, a 1952 film based on the famous 1946 novel of Jean-Paul Sartre. As an artist and with Sartre being one of the key figures in the philosophy of existentialism, I decided to dress all in black-- perhaps a stereotypical identification of that philosophy. But that was a naïve and serious mistake on my part since it was the Cuba of the 1960s.
Fidel Castro invited Sartre, who also was a Marxist, to visit Cuba in 1960 to report on his new revolution. Since Sartre became a friend and admirer of Castro, he was fine and dandy. I arrived late at the screening because the public transportation in Cuba was very bad after Castro's revolution.
The movie theater was crowded because it was a French film and Cubans detested Soviet films and the other Eastern European satellite countries. So I sat in the only empty seat I saw in the dark. Suddenly, I was touched on my left shoulder and a voice telling me that I was under arrest. I was extremely surprised but not to attract attention, I got up and went with him to the lobby thinking all would be clear once I identified myself.
When we got to the lobby he held me forcefully by my arm and despite my protests conducted me to a police car and to a police station where they told me to sit on a bench. Surprisingly, there was a puppy dog and I passed the time playing with him while I was waiting until my situation was cleared. I asked to call my home but they said no. After a few hours they called me and forced me to sign a paper in exchange for my freedom. So I did as I was advised—how naïve I was! Then they took me to the infamous prison, The Prince Castle. There they took a silver dollar that my father gave me when I was a child that I always carried with me. They never returned it to me.
I was taken to a big crowded dungeon jam-packed with prisoners where I slept on the floor. Next morning I was released thanks to one of my mother's brothers who was a member of Castro's feared secret police. He took me to one of those fast trials of Castro's revolution. Thanks to that uncle I was found guilty, but they released me! I realized years later why I was detained. It was because I was dressed in black like an “existentialist”. Such individualism was not permitted.
This is a sample as to why I know the value of freedom and living in America. With all its defects, there is nothing like America.
Trip to The Opera (Agustin)
As an actor under contract by the state, one evening I went to the opera with another actor. After the performance, we planned to go to eat with the two female stars of the show. From the main entrance of the theater we walked around the block to wait at the stage door. Nearly there, we were questioned by a guy dressed in plain clothes saying he was a policeman who wanted to know where we were going. We told him we were actors and we were going to meet our singer friends to go to eat. Another opera singer friend came out with her husband, the conductor of the orchestra. She saw us before she entered her car and asked “What happened?” Thinking that the situation was going to clear, we replied, “Don't worry, it's nothing.”
Then the guy asked to see our IDs. We showed our actor's union and the theater company IDs. Not satisfied, he said, “We have to go to the police station so they can see your IDs.” We repeated that the two stars were waiting for us to go out. He brought out a gun and said, “You are detained and have to go to the police station.” Thinking everything would be resolved there, we walked with him at gunpoint. When we arrived, he pushed us in and said to the policemen there, “Two more.”
They pushed us into a dark, over-filled cell of prisoners standing as sardines, all with arms raised because of the lack of space. People were protesting and saying that they too were detained there for no reason. After some hours, we were put in an equally crowded paddy wagon, and driven through the dark streets to an old, colonial mansion and pushed into a dark, crowded room. I felt that I was in a hellish nightmare. There were people crying and yelling. It reminded me of the films of Hitler during WWII.
Afterward, I was conducted to a large room upstairs converted into an office with many old desks and filing cabinets. At each desk was a detainee and an interrogation officer. I could not see the fellow actor who was detained with me. I had no idea why I was part of such a grotesque situation. I had heard from other actors, artists, intellectuals, that the new government was conducting such raids, but I didn't believe them--”That can't happen here.” Now, with my own experience, I realized that they were telling the truth.
A detainee nearby whispered, “Declare yourself 'anti-social' in the document you have to sign and they will let you go.” When I got my turn the official said, “If you sign this document we'll release you”. So I did. Then they conducted me to a very long line in the courtyard of the dark mansion. Soon I find out that it was to take mug shots with a number. Then I was released in the very late hours of the night. The fellow actor was also released and we walked back to our respective homes through the dark streets.
My mother and father knew that something happened to me that evening because one of the opera singers had called inquiring why we did not join them for dinner. My mother had called one of her brothers who was a member of the dreaded State Security and he came the next morning.
He told my mother and father that they were detaining actors, singers, artists, intellectuals, because Castro's government considered them “scum” and “anti-social” because there was no use for them in the new Socialist society. They were to be sent to concentration camps called UMAP (Military Units to Help Production). That was an idea of Che Guevara.
These forced-labor camps were located across the country. He explained that after they have the files with name, addresses and photos they will start sending telegrams to go to their assigned camp. He, in his position, could not do anything. So my best choice was to escape abroad.
The government immediately cancelled my contract with the theatrical company and I went into hiding and incommunicado in my house for over a year. I was finally able to escape by a nerve-racking scheme and to a government bureaucratic error. You can read details of my escape here.
A week later my mother received the telegram for me to report to the concentration camp. But I was safe in Canada. Most Americans have no clue what living inside a Communist regime is like and take for granted what they have and cannot realize what they are losing day by day.
America, America, I Love You, Let Me Count the Ways (Klara)
1. For welcoming hordes of people that you never knew existed. As a matter of fact, we never laid our eyes on persons of so many colors from yellow to charcoal black. They were mingling around purposefully while we were nervously looking around the huge hall of the airport, hoping to spot our friends. What if they are not waiting anymore? The plane was many hours late. Oh, there they are, our only familiar piece of the old world that we let behind.
2. For sharing the freedom that was not free; many paid for it with their lives and many still will in order to keep it. I will never forget--I stopped for the red light and realized the car ahead of me was carrying a casket covered by an American flag. My heart skipped a beat. Vietnam was still raging. Somebody’s son, brother or husband died for this country, died for me, too. I just got here, did not contribute much. He died, so this country could remain free. How could one repay that?
3. For giving most privileges to newcomers as soon as we step on your shores. I only later learned that whoever steps on America’s soil is considered an American. Of course, there are advantages that come with citizenship, but opportunities abound, just like a born American.
4. For the freedom to pray to their God in any language. President Washington welcomed Jewish immigrants and stressed that they are considered a valued addition to the young Republic.
5. For the freedom of thought, speech and to publish them. For us, coming from a country where all those were punishable by law; all were censored activities.
6. For freedom of movement. After we received our green cards we wanted to visit our good friends in Canada. A bit apprehensive, we asked around and learned that we needed to take proper documents, mainly for entry back into the U.S. When leaving the U.S. we tried to give the guard our green cards. He just asked where we are going and then asked all of us to say that “We are Americans”. Stunned, we obeyed. He wished us a nice trip and waived us on. What a country! Your word is your passport.
7. For the freedom to pursue your trade. When I found a company that reproduced sculptures, the owner glanced at my photos, asked a few questions and told me to start on Monday. I thanked him and asked for a letter of employment. He just looked at me: ”What letter, my word is not enough for you? Obviously you do not want this job.” ”Oh no, sir, I do.” “So, show up Monday, that's it.” I worked for him for 13 years.
8. For the freedom to educate your children as you see fit. Our younger son joined the Boy Scouts and we received a questionnaire asking about his church affiliation. Fresh out of the country where joining any church could result in peril, I explained our situation and the scout master asked me a simple question: “Do you believe that your son is honest, caring, loves his family and is ready to become a scout?” I agreed and again left shaking my head.
9. Freedom to vote for your representatives. After decades voting together with the rest of the 99.9 percent for only one candidate, I couldn't wait to get my chance.
10. For freedom to seek equal justice, where you are considered innocent until proven guilty. Where I came from, it was the opposite.
Real Surrealism (Agustin)
I came from a country which, in 1959, had the opportunity for a fundamental transformation to Socialism. We were told by the government and the media that equality and social justice will reign. However the government began taking away freedoms. It quickly became a surreal nightmare. We lived in fear 24/7. The government suddenly changed the currency and took all but $5,000 from all bank accounts. People lost their savings. That was “equality” and “social justice.” Soon, food, clothing and everything else became scarce. “This can't happen here.” But it did.
The government imposed a rationing book for all necessities. But, after waiting in long lines, usually there was nothing left. Schools of all denominations were confiscated by the government. Parents lost their right to educate their children. The government began to indoctrinate children to form loyal tools of the government as the idea of “family” was destroyed. There were massive executions--broadcast on TV to instill fear. Jails were filled to much more than capacity with anyone who didn't like the new Socialist system. Concentration and labor camps appeared for LGBT and other communities. Others were put in mental institutions, or just mysteriously disappeared.
Most medicines disappeared from stores and pharmacies. People became dependent on relatives abroad for medicine but the government always kept half. The best hospitals were reserved for the government and their new loyal elite. But that elite has to be very careful, looking over their shoulders 24/7 because privileges given can be taken away. Some managed to escape at great risk, many died trying. Little did we know that Socialism was going to destroy my former country.
August 1968 (Klara)
A suffocating summer night. Nervously waiting for results of the Soviet-Czechoslovak negotiations. A horrible noise and a burst of light shook me back to reality. Under our window stood a Soviet tank, a young soldier with a red star on his cap was trying to read a map. This can't happen in my country, but the Russians are here.
Going to America (Agustin)
I left the country where I was born and educated in 1965 for Canada. After living in Montreal for three months, I went to Paris where it was legal for me to work—I cleaned floors and applied for U.S. residence. I also needed get an American family to sponsor me and provide a legal “Affidavit of Support”. I had not been convicted of any crimes, used drugs or been a member of any subversive group. I had to pass a medical examination to prove that I didn't have any contagious disease. Since I came from a communist country and knew the horrors of that inhumane system, I was very glad that the U.S. didn't allow Communist Party members.
The process to come here was fine with me, the minimum for a country to protect itself and its citizens, from crimes, political nightmares and contagious illness. A friend that applied with me was denied U.S. residence because his x-ray showed a spot on the lungs. He came two years later after it was resolved.
In July 1967, I arrived to the U.S. I got my Social Security card and began working as a dishwasher in a hospital in Washington, DC and later at a department store building displays for the windows. The America I saw was a melting pot of different nationalities striving to be Americans and living in harmony with the laws and culture. I love and I'm proud of America because it's a country that opens its doors and gives you a second chance to begin a new life with freedom of choice.
I don't think it's right or fair to enter the U.S. illegally and not integrate to this society, not learn English. To continue living as if you were still in the country where you came from, trying to impose the culture, religion and laws of your former country and pretend that American citizens adapt to yours is destructive to everyone. That is not a positive immigration. That creates tribal division that lets you be used by unscrupulous politicians and harm us all. Why did you come to this country if you want to continue living like in the country you escaped? Hell no, I don't want to go back to my former country, not even as a tourist.
Paris (Klara)
Two weeks after the tank arrived, our small family is standing on the Austrian border. The silhouette of our town’s iconic castle is now small. “You are not going to look back to see your country for the last time?” asked my husband. I could not look; my vision was completely obstructed by my tears. At that moment I recalled “Man without a Country” the story of a young officer of the American Navy. We are now “People without a country”.
The first night in Vienna, sleeping on the hard floor of the school was a very good entry path for the migrants. Our boys were playing with their little cars, but my husband, nervous by nature, was walking the corridors of the school, smoking. His reporter's mind was mapping our next move. Next stop: American Agency for refugees. There he was briefed on our future. We can’t stay in Vienna, too close. “By the way, keep your little boy close, there were cases of Russians snatching children.” Also, we could wait for America in two places, Italy or France. He spoke some French, but getting the visas was very difficult.
Next stop: French Embassy. To this day we count this achievement among the top! Miraculously, with the French visa we drove thru Germany and crossed Strasbourg into “Sweet France”.
Paris, City of lights and immigrants. Well, we got lost. Finally my husband found the French agency for refugees. New rules, support for a three month of stay renewable, but we believed we’d be on our way to the U.S. by then. Not so fast! We stayed in Paris for six months.
France keeps all their laws, even the Napoleonic ones. You can’t get a permit to work without the permit to stay, and the other way around. You can’t get to the U.S. without a sponsor who guarantees that you are not going to become a burden to the State. Most of our new friends already had their permits, happily starting to pack while we were still hanging on, not knowing what our future would be. Our New Year’s celebration with a bunch of refugees from assorted countries was bittersweet. We were happy for our friends leaving, but our outlook was still hopeless. We were hanging on to “next year in New York!”
In the meantime my husband met with a reporter from Paris Soir who sent him to Vienna to interview refugees. The newspaper published his articles, which got the attention of the press attaché at the American Embassy. A meeting ended with an invitation for my husband to call Washington as soon as we arrived.
Finally, that day came; we went for the interview, then, complete check-up, which unfortunately, I did not pass. As a smoker, my lungs showed some irregularities. There was to be another examination and if I don’t pass, I will have to stay behind. After a few nerve wracking days, all clear!
Moving on. My husband and I contracted a nasty flu. With high fever, barely controlled by huge portions of quinine, we arrived in Brussels to get on an El Al plane to the States. Under strong scrutiny due to the attack on the Israeli Olympians, finally, we took off.
Goodbye, Europe . . . (Klara)
From the plane’s window we tracked the countries we flew over. The plane made a stop in England, but we were not allowed to enter the airport. Our status of “people without a country” hung over us like a dark cloud. . . We are getting close. . . Canada and . . .
New York, here we come!
Welcome to America in a Taxi (Klara)
After an arduous flight halfway around the globe, we finally met with our dear friends at the JFK airport in New York, March, 1969. In a New York taxi, a friendly driver asked if we had come to the U.S. to visit. The answer: “Oh, no! We want to stay here.” “Well, that's great. Welcome to America!” was his surprising reply. Even in our country, where we were born and which we loved, our presence was, at best, merely tolerated. After waiting six months in Paris and the long hours of questioning at the sûreté générale there, we did not expect such a welcome. After all, we were refugees from a communist country, in transit. Being a family without a country for six months, we were surprised and delighted to be welcomed in America.
Going to Jean-Paul Sartre's Film (Agustin)
After a play rehearsal, I left for the official Film Institute to see The Respectful Prostitute, a 1952 film based on the famous 1946 novel of Jean-Paul Sartre. As an artist and with Sartre being one of the key figures in the philosophy of existentialism, I decided to dress all in black-- perhaps a stereotypical identification of that philosophy. But that was a naïve and serious mistake on my part since it was the Cuba of the 1960s.
Fidel Castro invited Sartre, who also was a Marxist, to visit Cuba in 1960 to report on his new revolution. Since Sartre became a friend and admirer of Castro, he was fine and dandy. I arrived late at the screening because the public transportation in Cuba was very bad after Castro's revolution.
The movie theater was crowded because it was a French film and Cubans detested Soviet films and the other Eastern European satellite countries. So I sat in the only empty seat I saw in the dark. Suddenly, I was touched on my left shoulder and a voice telling me that I was under arrest. I was extremely surprised but not to attract attention, I got up and went with him to the lobby thinking all would be clear once I identified myself.
When we got to the lobby he held me forcefully by my arm and despite my protests conducted me to a police car and to a police station where they told me to sit on a bench. Surprisingly, there was a puppy dog and I passed the time playing with him while I was waiting until my situation was cleared. I asked to call my home but they said no. After a few hours they called me and forced me to sign a paper in exchange for my freedom. So I did as I was advised—how naïve I was! Then they took me to the infamous prison, The Prince Castle. There they took a silver dollar that my father gave me when I was a child that I always carried with me. They never returned it to me.
I was taken to a big crowded dungeon jam-packed with prisoners where I slept on the floor. Next morning I was released thanks to one of my mother's brothers who was a member of Castro's feared secret police. He took me to one of those fast trials of Castro's revolution. Thanks to that uncle I was found guilty, but they released me! I realized years later why I was detained. It was because I was dressed in black like an “existentialist”. Such individualism was not permitted.
This is a sample as to why I know the value of freedom and living in America. With all its defects, there is nothing like America.
Trip to The Opera (Agustin)
As an actor under contract by the state, one evening I went to the opera with another actor. After the performance, we planned to go to eat with the two female stars of the show. From the main entrance of the theater we walked around the block to wait at the stage door. Nearly there, we were questioned by a guy dressed in plain clothes saying he was a policeman who wanted to know where we were going. We told him we were actors and we were going to meet our singer friends to go to eat. Another opera singer friend came out with her husband, the conductor of the orchestra. She saw us before she entered her car and asked “What happened?” Thinking that the situation was going to clear, we replied, “Don't worry, it's nothing.”
Then the guy asked to see our IDs. We showed our actor's union and the theater company IDs. Not satisfied, he said, “We have to go to the police station so they can see your IDs.” We repeated that the two stars were waiting for us to go out. He brought out a gun and said, “You are detained and have to go to the police station.” Thinking everything would be resolved there, we walked with him at gunpoint. When we arrived, he pushed us in and said to the policemen there, “Two more.”
They pushed us into a dark, over-filled cell of prisoners standing as sardines, all with arms raised because of the lack of space. People were protesting and saying that they too were detained there for no reason. After some hours, we were put in an equally crowded paddy wagon, and driven through the dark streets to an old, colonial mansion and pushed into a dark, crowded room. I felt that I was in a hellish nightmare. There were people crying and yelling. It reminded me of the films of Hitler during WWII.
Afterward, I was conducted to a large room upstairs converted into an office with many old desks and filing cabinets. At each desk was a detainee and an interrogation officer. I could not see the fellow actor who was detained with me. I had no idea why I was part of such a grotesque situation. I had heard from other actors, artists, intellectuals, that the new government was conducting such raids, but I didn't believe them--”That can't happen here.” Now, with my own experience, I realized that they were telling the truth.
A detainee nearby whispered, “Declare yourself 'anti-social' in the document you have to sign and they will let you go.” When I got my turn the official said, “If you sign this document we'll release you”. So I did. Then they conducted me to a very long line in the courtyard of the dark mansion. Soon I find out that it was to take mug shots with a number. Then I was released in the very late hours of the night. The fellow actor was also released and we walked back to our respective homes through the dark streets.
My mother and father knew that something happened to me that evening because one of the opera singers had called inquiring why we did not join them for dinner. My mother had called one of her brothers who was a member of the dreaded State Security and he came the next morning.
He told my mother and father that they were detaining actors, singers, artists, intellectuals, because Castro's government considered them “scum” and “anti-social” because there was no use for them in the new Socialist society. They were to be sent to concentration camps called UMAP (Military Units to Help Production). That was an idea of Che Guevara.
These forced-labor camps were located across the country. He explained that after they have the files with name, addresses and photos they will start sending telegrams to go to their assigned camp. He, in his position, could not do anything. So my best choice was to escape abroad.
The government immediately cancelled my contract with the theatrical company and I went into hiding and incommunicado in my house for over a year. I was finally able to escape by a nerve-racking scheme and to a government bureaucratic error. You can read details of my escape here.
A week later my mother received the telegram for me to report to the concentration camp. But I was safe in Canada. Most Americans have no clue what living inside a Communist regime is like and take for granted what they have and cannot realize what they are losing day by day.
Cracking the Genetic Code: Stalin’s New Soviet Man
by Darian Diachok
April 2019
PERMALINK
Editor’s Note - The intellectual pedigree of the Left includes the most outlandish crackpot theories imaginable. The Utopian Socialists believed socialism would turn the oceans into lemonade. What the Soviets believed about transmitting communism down through the generations in the blood ranks right up there with the most outlandish of all the theories on offer from the Left.
After defeating the counterrevolutionary armies to win the Russian Civil War, the Reds at once replaced religion in the schools with Marxist indoctrination. If Communism was to succeed, the State needed not only a highly educated workforce but politically loyal one as well. But revolutionary proclamations were one thing, and reality quite another. The Reds found they had inherited a devastated education system. Before the Revolution, over ninety percent of children had been attending school, but after years of neglect and war devastation, the figure had fallen to just a quarter.
Confronted with rampant illiteracy throughout the new Communist realm, the governing elite found it had to temper its wild-eyed revolutionary zeal with practicality. To raise literacy levels quickly, the new government encouraged basic instruction in all the local languages: Russian, Ukrainian, Georgian, and Belarusian. Total Russification could come later. The Ukrainian language, long suppressed under the Russian czars, enjoyed a rebirth, and an outpouring of first-rate literature – a literary movement that would take an unexpected turn.
When Joseph Stalin wrested total power after Lenin’s death, he added a portentous new emphasis to mere literacy. A doctrinaire Marxist in love with the notion of “struggle,” Stalin pushed his own pet scientific ideas in education – and foremost among these, a theory of evolution long discredited in the West. Stalin believed in Lamarck’s Theory of Acquired Characteristics: Simply put, organisms evolved by struggling against adversity – these struggles supposedly altering the organism’s actual genetic code. The next generation, Stalin believed, would inherit the improved genes, and evolution would progress. This quack theory would profoundly impact Soviet education policy. Stalin in fact came to believe that Communist schools could produce an entirely new biological species, the New Soviet Man. As Soviet youth studied and struggled toward the ideal of selfless service to the Revolution, why, they would pass on their newly improved genes to the next generation, and the next generation ... until the desired new life form emerged.
According to Marxist theorists, this New Soviet Man, once fully evolved, would be completely “self-regulating,” no longer in need of any antiquated bourgeois or religious moral code for guidance. Instead, the Communist vision, genetically inbred through the Socialist struggle, would animate the new creature. As a side benefit, this New Soviet Man would also turn out sexually liberated, but presumably in a “self-regulating” way. Depictions of these futuristic hominoids began appearing all over the Soviet Union – in posters, statues and even on postage stamps – their faces pulsing with Marxist fervor – both genders in their youthful prime and muscular as Olympic athletes.
---------------------------------
Darian Diachok has been working in international development for several decades, with major postings in the Former Soviet Union. This piece appears as a chapter in his book, Escapes: A True Story, available on Amazon.
by Darian Diachok
April 2019
PERMALINK
Editor’s Note - The intellectual pedigree of the Left includes the most outlandish crackpot theories imaginable. The Utopian Socialists believed socialism would turn the oceans into lemonade. What the Soviets believed about transmitting communism down through the generations in the blood ranks right up there with the most outlandish of all the theories on offer from the Left.
After defeating the counterrevolutionary armies to win the Russian Civil War, the Reds at once replaced religion in the schools with Marxist indoctrination. If Communism was to succeed, the State needed not only a highly educated workforce but politically loyal one as well. But revolutionary proclamations were one thing, and reality quite another. The Reds found they had inherited a devastated education system. Before the Revolution, over ninety percent of children had been attending school, but after years of neglect and war devastation, the figure had fallen to just a quarter.
Confronted with rampant illiteracy throughout the new Communist realm, the governing elite found it had to temper its wild-eyed revolutionary zeal with practicality. To raise literacy levels quickly, the new government encouraged basic instruction in all the local languages: Russian, Ukrainian, Georgian, and Belarusian. Total Russification could come later. The Ukrainian language, long suppressed under the Russian czars, enjoyed a rebirth, and an outpouring of first-rate literature – a literary movement that would take an unexpected turn.
When Joseph Stalin wrested total power after Lenin’s death, he added a portentous new emphasis to mere literacy. A doctrinaire Marxist in love with the notion of “struggle,” Stalin pushed his own pet scientific ideas in education – and foremost among these, a theory of evolution long discredited in the West. Stalin believed in Lamarck’s Theory of Acquired Characteristics: Simply put, organisms evolved by struggling against adversity – these struggles supposedly altering the organism’s actual genetic code. The next generation, Stalin believed, would inherit the improved genes, and evolution would progress. This quack theory would profoundly impact Soviet education policy. Stalin in fact came to believe that Communist schools could produce an entirely new biological species, the New Soviet Man. As Soviet youth studied and struggled toward the ideal of selfless service to the Revolution, why, they would pass on their newly improved genes to the next generation, and the next generation ... until the desired new life form emerged.
According to Marxist theorists, this New Soviet Man, once fully evolved, would be completely “self-regulating,” no longer in need of any antiquated bourgeois or religious moral code for guidance. Instead, the Communist vision, genetically inbred through the Socialist struggle, would animate the new creature. As a side benefit, this New Soviet Man would also turn out sexually liberated, but presumably in a “self-regulating” way. Depictions of these futuristic hominoids began appearing all over the Soviet Union – in posters, statues and even on postage stamps – their faces pulsing with Marxist fervor – both genders in their youthful prime and muscular as Olympic athletes.
---------------------------------
Darian Diachok has been working in international development for several decades, with major postings in the Former Soviet Union. This piece appears as a chapter in his book, Escapes: A True Story, available on Amazon.