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Anne ApplebaumA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Chapter 24 recounts the series of revolts within the Soviet Gulag’s special camps following Stalin’s death, offering a glimpse into the transformative impact of political shifts on the prisoners’ psyche and their collective actions. The spread of rumors and the strengthening of national organizations within the camps signaled a growing unrest among the prisoners. The narrative highlights the distinct communal structures that had formed within the camp system, ranging from national groupings to ideologically driven factions. This organizational complexity not only facilitated a shared sense of identity and resistance among the prisoners but also allowed for the emergence of a sophisticated network of rebellion, underscored by acts of defiance such as the secret production and distribution of an underground newspaper.
The culmination of this unrest was a series of coordinated uprisings across the Gulag system, most notably in Norilsk, Vorkuta, and Kengir. These revolts were characterized by their unprecedented scale and organization, challenging the Soviet authorities’ control over the camps with demands for improved conditions and political reforms. The narrative documents the prisoners’ strategic mobilization, from the formation of strike committees to the execution of protests and the dissemination of anti-Soviet propaganda.
Applebaum highlights the Norilsk uprising in the spring of 1953, which emerged as a hallmark of prisoners’ resistance within the Gulag’s special camps. Sparked by the killing of a prisoner by convoy guards, the unrest escalated rapidly, with two of the camp’s divisions initiating a strike in protest. This act of defiance quickly spread, leading to the monumental strike involving 16,379 prisoners. The prisoners’ demands were clear: improved conditions and political reforms. They formed strike committees, orchestrated protests, and even managed to capture a member of the camp administration, making him a hostage.
The Soviet authorities’ response oscillated between negotiation attempts and brute force suppression. Despite the prisoners’ organized and strategic mobilization, the uprising was suppressed, resulting in the death of five prisoners and injuries to 14 others during a single confrontation. This uprising, along with others in Vorkuta and Kengir, marked a significant shift in the dynamics of power within the camps, showcasing the prisoners’ ability to momentarily seize control from their captors and articulate their demands for justice and freedom.
The chapter concludes with the suppression of the Kengir uprising, encapsulating the ultimate failure of the prisoners’ revolution against the overwhelming might of the Soviet state. The detailed recounting of the violent crackdown, the execution and punishment of strike leaders, and the ensuing aftermath of the revolts paints a picture of resilience in the face of despair. The legacy of these uprisings also signifies a moment of resistance within the Soviet penal system, highlighting the enduring human spirit amidst the most oppressive conditions.
Chapter 25 describes the complex and often contradictory process of de-Stalinization and the gradual disintegration of the Gulag system under Nikita Khrushchev’s leadership in the Soviet Union. It opens by highlighting the aftermath of the Kengir uprising, a turning point that, despite being crushed, underscored the Gulag’s inefficiency and unprofitability, leading to significant changes in the camp system. The narrative details how, by 1954, a consensus had emerged within the Soviet elite about the need to reform the penal system, culminating in policies that relaxed camp regimes, reintroduced the eight-hour workday, and facilitated the dissolution of special camps. These reforms were part of a broader shift in Soviet policy that sought to distance the state from Stalinist practices, albeit with varying degrees of resistance and inconsistency.
The chapter then details the broader societal impacts of the “thaw,” focusing on the large-scale rehabilitation of prisoners and the intense debates it sparked within the Soviet leadership. The tale of Lev Mishchenko, a former political prisoner, captures the essence of the thaw and the nuances of rehabilitation. Arrested in the late 1940s for alleged anti-Soviet activities, Mishchenko spent years in a labor camp in Siberia. With the onset of de-Stalinization, he was among the thousands whose cases were re-examined. In 1956, following Khrushchev’s secret speech, Mishchenko was released and officially rehabilitated, a process that acknowledged the baselessness of his initial conviction.
Despite his formal reinstatement as a citizen without a criminal record, Mishchenko’s return to society was fraught with challenges. He struggled to find employment and to reintegrate into a community that still viewed him with suspicion. This section paints a picture of a society grappling with the legacies of mass repression, where the pace of rehabilitation varied widely and former prisoners faced numerous challenges reintegrating into society. The narrative captures the tumultuous atmosphere of the time, marked by a mixture of hope, disillusionment, and ongoing contention over how the Soviet Union should confront its past.
Finally, the chapter explores the cultural and intellectual ramifications of the thaw, particularly through the lens of literature and public discourse. It discusses the publication of Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, a novel that broke new ground by bringing the reality of the Gulag into the public sphere. This development is portrayed as a double-edged sword: While it catalyzed a national reckoning with the legacy of the camps, it also precipitated a conservative backlash that eventually culminated in the end of the thaw and the reassertion of more repressive policies. Throughout, the chapter underscores the complexity of the Soviet Union’s attempt to navigate its Stalinist past, highlighting the enduring tensions between the desire for change and the resistance to fully confronting the horrors of the Gulag.
Chapter 26 details the evolution of political repression in the Soviet Union following Stalin’s death, focusing on the era of the dissidents. The death of Stalin marked the end of massive slave labor as a central part of the Soviet economy but did not signify the end of repression or the disappearance of camps and prisons.
Instead, the nature of political prisoners changed, with a new generation of dissidents, known for their literary, religious, or political opposition to the Soviet system, emerging. These individuals, often referred to as “prisoners of conscience,” were arrested not randomly but for their explicit defiance against the regime. The chapter highlights the significant decrease in the number of political prisoners compared to Stalin’s era and describes the demographic and ideological shifts among these individuals, including the rise of human rights activists who were often the children or relatives of Stalin’s victims.
The legal system and conditions within the Soviet penal system also evolved during this period. A new criminal code introduced in 1960 abolished some of the most repressive Stalin-era practices, but the authorities retained ample means to arrest and convict dissenters through newly formulated legal articles. Political prisoners faced somewhat different conditions than their predecessors, with organized protests and hunger strikes becoming common forms of resistance. Despite the legal changes, the Soviet authorities continued to employ punitive measures, including placement in high-security prisons and psychiatric hospitals, to suppress dissent.
The utilization of psychiatric hospitals to detain dissidents marks a particularly sinister aspect of post-Stalin repression. Soviet authorities exploited the psychiatric system to discredit and neutralize political opponents, diagnosing healthy dissidents with fictitious mental illnesses to justify their detention. This practice garnered international condemnation and highlighted the regime’s continued reliance on repressive tactics to maintain control.
Despite the challenges, the dissident movement played a crucial role in exposing the Soviet Union’s human rights abuses, utilizing samizdat (dissident literature circulated by hand or other informal means) and international advocacy to draw attention to their plight and, in some cases, secure the release of political prisoners.
Chapter 27 details the final years of the Soviet Union during the 1980s, a period marked by a significant shift in the treatment and perception of dissidents within the Soviet penal system, underpinned by broader socio-political changes. Yuri Andropov’s tenure as General Secretary is highlighted for its repressive nature, with a continued crackdown on dissent that employed arrest, harassment, and surveillance to suppress opposition.
Despite the oppressive atmosphere, political prisoners in the Soviet camps and prisons began to organize around common causes, fostering a network of dissent that spanned various national and ideological lines. This era saw the emergence of groups such as the refuseniks—Soviet Jews who were denied the opportunity to emigrate to Israel—whose plight attracted international attention, particularly from the United States, linking human rights issues within the Soviet Union to broader diplomatic concerns.
As Mikhail Gorbachev came to power in 1985, his policies of glasnost (openness) and perestroika (restructuring) catalyzed a transformative dialogue about the Soviet Union’s repressive past and present. These policies led to a more open discussion of Soviet history, including the Stalinist purges and the existence of the Gulag system, significantly altering the public discourse. Literature and testimonies about the Gulag began to be published widely, rehabilitating the reputations of many previously condemned figures. Simultaneously, the political dissident movement, although weakened by years of repression, started to see the release of political prisoners, a process that was slow and fraught with reluctance from the KGB and other Soviet authorities, indicating the complex nature of the Soviet Union’s transition away from its totalitarian past.
A notable example is Natan Sharansky, a prominent refusenik and human rights activist who was arrested in 1977 and spent years in prison on charges of espionage and treason. Sharansky’s release in 1986, amid Gorbachev’s reforms, marked a significant victory for human rights advocates and underscored the shifting attitudes toward dissent within the Soviet leadership. His release, along with others, served as a testament to the impact of glasnost on the Soviet state’s approach to dissent, moving from suppression to a begrudging tolerance that paved the way for the eventual dissolution of the Soviet Union.
The eventual dissolution of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s marked the definitive end of the Gulag system, with former republics gaining independence and many former prisoners and dissidents rising to positions of leadership in these new states. This period of rapid change underscored the irreversible impact of confronting the Soviet past, challenging the foundations of Soviet rule and leading to its ultimate collapse. Gorbachev’s inability to foresee the full implications of glasnost on the Soviet state’s legitimacy highlights a critical misjudgment, underscoring the effect of historical truth on societal transformation.
Applebaum reflects on a journey to the Solovetsky Islands, initiating a broader contemplation on the complexities of remembering and interpreting the legacy of the Gulag within contemporary Russia and the former Soviet republics. This trip becomes a conduit for exploring the varied responses to her research on the Gulag, ranging from hostility to indifference and a desire for deeper understanding. The recounting of interactions with Russian citizens encapsulates the broader societal struggle with the Soviet Union’s oppressive history. Applebaum’s narrative weaves through personal encounters, highlighting the enduring divide in perceptions of the past and the challenges of engaging with the Gulag’s legacy in a country still grappling with its Soviet identity.
The Epilogue considers efforts across the former Soviet sphere to memorialize the victims of political repression, juxtaposing these against the backdrop of ongoing debates and the construction of memorials. Countries like Lithuania and Hungary have made strides in acknowledging the atrocities through museums and public discourse, while Belarus and Russia exhibit varying degrees of denial and ambivalence toward fully confronting the past. Applebaum contrasts these memorials with the absence of a unified national reckoning in Russia, noting the sparse and scattered efforts to commemorate the victims of the Gulag. This scattered memorial landscape symbolizes the fragmented collective memory and the challenges of institutionalizing the remembrance of Soviet-era repression.
Applebaum concludes by pondering the implications of this selective memory for Russia and the broader post-Soviet space, as well as for the Western understanding of the Cold War and totalitarianism. The reluctance to fully confront the past not only hampers the development of Russian civil society and the rule of law but also distorts historical understanding, undermining the lessons that might be drawn from acknowledging the full scope of human capacity for cruelty. The Epilogue emphasizes the importance of memory in shaping both national identity and international perceptions, arguing for a more concerted effort to remember and learn from the history of the Gulag to prevent the recurrence of such atrocities.
Applebaum structures the final chapters of Gulag to reflect the chronological progression and thematic shifts within the Soviet penal system. She marks significant historical transitions, such as Yuri Andropov’s rise and subsequent crackdown on dissent, serving as both a historical and thematic pivot that underscores a period of relentless repression up through the gradual thawing and the Soviet Union’s ultimate dissolution.
The final chapters shed light on The Intersection of Ideology and Power. By quoting poet Andrei Voznesensku—“We are the children of the cult. We are its flesh and blood” (559)—Applebaum highlights the generational imprint of Stalin’s cult of personality, exploring its ideological roots and its pervasive influence over Soviet society. This metaphorical framing underscores how state-sanctioned violence impacted the psyche of individuals, transforming ordinary Soviet citizens into “children of the cult” of Stalinism, showcasing the Gulag’s role within a broader political and societal context.
Applebaum further explores conflicted attitudes toward official Soviet ideology during the war: “The war produced a surge of patriotism across the Soviet Union, and former prisoners were allowed to take part in it” (501). This observation is supported by the records of over 1,000 zeks who fought in the army, with many becoming officers, joining the Communist Party, and winning medals, despite the absence of separate records for ex-prisoners’ military distinctions. This evidence suggests that the wartime patriotism engulfing the Soviet Union also included former Gulag inmates, highlighting the paradoxical blend of state-enforced patriotism with the personal convictions of prisoners and exiles.
Similarly, the introduction of Mikhail Gorbachev’s reforms during the perestroika and glasnost era represents a pivotal moment in the narrative, signaling a shift toward openness after decades of suppression and marking a shift in The Intersection of Ideology and Power. Applebaum details the complexities of the Soviet Union’s shift from Stalin’s terror to the nuanced repressions and eventual openness of the Gorbachev era. One example she cites is the case of Aleksandr Fadeev, a staunch Stalinist and influential literary bureaucrat who, overwhelmed by guilt after Khrushchev’s secret speech denouncing Stalin’s policies, began to drink heavily. Fadeev’s remorse for having sanctioned the arrest of numerous innocent writers culminated in his death by suicide. His one-sentence suicide note, addressed to the Central Committee, read, “The bullet fired was meant for Stalin’s policies, for Zhdanov’s aesthetics, for Lysenko’s genetics” (569). This quote encapsulates the personal and ideological turmoil that followed the denouncement of Stalin’s regime. This reference, along with an opening poem in another chapter that proclaims “Stalin is not dead” as long as societal inequities and fear persist (580), emphasizes the enduring impact of Stalinist terror.
In discussing the closing of the political prisons that marked the end of the Gulag system, Applebaum captures this paradoxical moment of Soviet history:
There were many strange things about the amnesty that shut down the political prisons of the Soviet Union for good. Nothing was stranger, however, than the scarce amount of attention it attracted. This, after all, was the end of the Gulag, the end of the camp system that had once contained millions of people. This was the triumph of the human rights movement, which had been the focus of so much diplomatic attention for the past two decades. This was a real moment of historical transformation—yet almost nobody noticed (613).
This reflection prompts a deeper contemplation on the nature of historical memory and public awareness, suggesting a dissonance between the significance of the camps’ dissolution and the collective consciousness of society. The muted response to such a pivotal change raises questions about the visibility and acknowledgment of human rights milestones, underscoring a potential disconnect in the collective memory and understanding of Soviet history’s darker chapters.
By Anne Applebaum
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