Moscow, December 25, 1991

by Conor O'Clery

  Kozyrev noticed how tense Kravchuk was. He realized that the Ukrainian boss feared Yeltsin would threaten him and argue for a union, which could cause a breakdown and a resort to a “Yugoslavia-type script.” Yeltsin also remembered Kravchuk as being very tense, even agitated. The overall atmosphere, Gaidar recalled, was one of profound anxiety, with Shushkevich the most agitated and emotional of all. The Belarusian leader was out of his depth in the company of his two wily and powerful fellow Slavs. A prominent nuclear scientist with a square face and bald head, he had little experience of politics. He had been in power only ten weeks, since Belarus rejected the old order and gave power to the reformers in the wake of the coup. His claim to fame outside Belarus was that he once supervised Lee Harvey Oswald when Kennedy’s future assassin was an engineer at a Minsk electronics factory. Shushkevich wondered if his two neighbors actually knew what they were doing, but he was prepared to go along. He believed the USSR was “already ungovernable… a nuclear monster.” Also he disliked Gorbachev, whom he had once looked to as a “god” but latterly found impossible to work with “because he never listened to anybody.”

  Kravchuk knew exactly what he wanted. Before leaving Kiev, the Ukrainian president had told American diplomat Thomas Niles that he was going to Belovezh Forest to sign an interstate agreement with Russia and Belarus that would have no center He would claim in his memoirs that there had been months of secret talks beforehand with the Russian and Belarusian leaders that led to the deal they were about to do—which could explain Yeltsin’s mysterious remark in January that the presidents of Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, and Kazakhstan had decided to draw up a treaty to replace the old Soviet Union, adding, “I think I may now say where—in Minsk.”

  But nothing was certain when the three leaders sat down for a dinner of game and pork that snowy evening in the forest.

  With a dramatic gesture, Yeltsin produced the text of Gorbachev’s union agreement and put it on the table. According to Kravchuk he said, “Do you agree with this? Will you sign it? Will you discuss which articles to take out? Your answer will determine the position of Russia. If you sign it I will sign it.” Kravchuk replied “Nyet!” to all three questions.

  From that moment on, the Russian leader no longer had to pay lip service to the cause of a union containing Ukraine. He had fulfilled his promise to Gorbachev to ask Kravchuk one more time to sign the union treaty. Kravchuk had refused. The Rubicon had been crossed at last. Here among the pine trees his thoughts went back to the Soviet military actions in Tbilisi and Vilnius, and he renewed his determination that they were not going to wait calmly for a new tragedy “with our paws folded back like timid rabbits.”

  They agreed that it was too risky to start negotiations at their level. Instead their support teams should work through the night to find a formula that would meet their aspirations.

  The tension eased. According to Kravchuk, “We drained our glasses, chatted, there was conversation and toasts, joking and laughter. Belovezh vodka [Belarus’s herbal vodka] was there. I drank it too.” The Ukrainian president took some pleasure in disclosing that even Ukrainian districts with large Russian populations had voted for independence in the referendum of December 1. “What? Even the Donbass voted yes?” exclaimed Yeltsin.

  Between ten and eleven o’clock the trio retired to the main bathhouse, along with Burbulis, Korzhakov, and the Ukrainian and Belarusian prime ministers, and relaxed there until after midnight in clouds of steam. Shushkevich denied later charges that they got drunk, though there was plenty of alcohol available in the banya. Yeltsin did not even get dizzy, he claimed, and Shushkevich himself did not touch alcohol, as “I considered that drinking on the eve of signing such a fate-changing document would be a crime.”

  Yeltsin’s team of Gaidar, Kozyrev, and Shakhrai meanwhile invited the experts from Ukraine and Belarus to work with them in a chalet where the Russians were billeted. The Belarusians stayed away, however, and the Ukrainian delegates hung around in the dark and snow outside, occasionally sending an emissary into what Kozyrev referred to as “our creative laboratory.”

  Shakhrai proved to be the most imaginative in finding the precise formula that was to spell the end of the Soviet Union. A Cossack lawyer with mournful eyes and a moustache that curled round his full lips, he had drafted many decrees for Yeltsin, including the order banning the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. He suggested that as the USSR was founded on the basis of a 1922 treaty signed by Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine (and the Transcaucasian Federation, which had ceased to exist), so the three surviving states could legally dismantle it.

  In their accounts of the meeting both Kozyrev and Gaidar maintain they were startled at the simplicity of the idea and quickly agreed. After midnight the Belarusians and Ukrainians came in from the cold. They all nodded as they read the words. They had a formula to take to their masters. It stated: “We, the Republic of Belarus, the Russian Federation (RSFSR), and Ukraine, as originators of the USSR on the basis of the Union Treaty of 1922, confirm that the USSR, as a subject of international law and a geopolitical reality, ceases its existence.”

  In Gaidar’s words, this was the knife that would allow them “to cut the Gordian knot of legal ambiguity and begin the business of state-building in countries that were already de facto independent.”

  The drafters drew up proposals for a successor association called a Commonwealth of Independent States, to which other Soviet republics would be invited to join. “They were our initiatives, not those of the presidents,” insisted Gaidar in an interview years later. “The final proposals were deliberated at the second level.” Burbulis also insisted, “We came to Minsk without a text and without any carefully weighed idea of a commonwealth. It was born right there.”

  There was no copier at the lodge, and the officials had to pass papers through two fax machines to make extra copies. Gaidar wrote out the final texts containing fourteen articles in longhand. At 4 a.m. Kozyrev trudged off through the snowdrifts to bring the sheets of paper to the typist’s room. There was one stenographer at the lodge, Evgeniya Pateychuk, a terrified young woman who worked for the forestry director and who had been fetched by the Belarus KGB at short notice, without even being given enough time, as she recalled, to comb her hair.[205] Unwilling to wake her up, Kozyrev put the documents under the locked door of the business office. There was consternation in the morning when the typist said that she found no papers. It was some time before they realized a cleaning lady had put them in a trash can. When they were eventually extracted by Korzhakov from a bag of rubbish, Pateychuk found she could not decipher much of Gaidar’s handwriting, and he had to dictate a lot of it over again.

  While this was going on, Yeltsin, Kravchuk, and Shushkevich gathered for breakfast of fried eggs, black bread, ham, and cheese. The Russian president was in fine fettle. Kravchuk found him stone cold sober. “I don’t exaggerate! He was in good form, vigorous, he had ideas.” The three leaders received their copies of Gaidar’s handiwork in late morning, typed at speed by Ms Pateychuk on the East German-made Optima electric business typewriter she had brought with her. They agreed to the idea of a commonwealth as a fig leaf for a divorce. Everything was inevitable now. They made some minor amendments to the draft paragraphs, toasted each completed article with a sip of cognac, and sent the pages off for retyping. The documents were passed through the two fax machines and the final versions clipped into three red hard-backed folders.

  Meanwhile workers carried a long marble-top table into the foyer of the Viskuli hunting lodge. Officials placed the folders in front of miniature flags for Ukraine, Belarus, and Russia. Five journalists, cold and hungry after having spent the night in a nearby village waiting for they knew not what, were ushered in to report the ceremony.

  Kravchuk, Shushkevich and Yeltsin entered and took their places along the table, with their top aides standing behind them. Shushkevich sat in the middle, as the host, with Yeltsin on his left and Kravchuk on his right. They opened the folders, titl
ed “Agreement on the Creation of a Commonwealth of Independent States.” The contents spelled out the new reality. After seven decades the USSR was finished in all but name, and its 293 million people destined to be separated among the constituent republics. The new entity would have its headquarters in Minsk. It would have no flag, no ministry of foreign affairs, no parliament, no citizenship, no tax-raising powers and no president. There was, however, a commitment to set up a single military control over nuclear weapons. Other republics would be invited to join.

  Suddenly a voice was heard, with a swear word: “Where are the pens?” There were no writing instruments available to sign the Soviet Union’s death warrant. Everyone standing around began producing ball points, felt tips, and fountain pens from their pockets. Valery Drozdov, deputy editor of the Belarus newspaper Narodnaya Volya (People’s Will), was among those who handed his pen to the trio at the table.[206]

  In a profound silence the three leaders signed the documents in the red folders. Only Drozdov took note of the exact time on his watch, which ironically bore the symbol of the USSR, the hammer and sickle, on its face. It was 2:17 p.m., on Sunday, December 8, 1991.[207]

  Waiters began bustling around with trays bearing glasses of champagne, and the high-ceilinged foyer echoed to the clinking of glasses. Yeltsin, Kravchuk and Shushkevich posed for the cameras, the Ukrainian president smiling like a cat with cream.

  “I well remember how a sensation of freedom and lightness suddenly came over me,” wrote Yeltsin in his account of the moment. “In signing this agreement Russia… was throwing off the traditional image of ‘potentate of half the world,’ of armed conflict with Western civilization, and the role of policeman in the resolution of ethnic conflicts.”

  Others reacted differently. Shakhrai felt as if they were burying a relative. Gaidar recalled, “We all had a heavy burden in our hearts.”

  Drozdov did not get his pen back. “One of the three put it in his pocket out of force of habit,” he recalled. “I believe it was Yeltsin.”

  Evgeniya Pateychuk, the typist, stepped out into the fresh air with her boss, forestry official Sergey Balyuk. It was already twilight and a light snow was falling. “So, Sergey Sergeyevich, what have we done!” she said. Years later she would protest: “I typed what I was given; understanding came later, in a day or two.” In her village of Kamenyuki twelve miles away, she became known as the woman who destroyed the Union.

  Yeltsin had not invited Nursultan Nazarbayev, president of Kazakhstan, to the meeting of the Slav leaders in the forest. The head of the powerful central Asian republic was a Gorbachev ally and had yet to declare independence. If they could get him to join them in Belovezhkaya Pushcha, they could present him with a fait accompli and ensure the support of the other Asian republics that deferred to him. But it was not so simple. Nazarbayev was at the time en route by air from Alma-Ata to Moscow. Korzhakov called the commander of Vnukovo-2 airport in Moscow and asked to be connected with the plane, identifying himself as “chief of security of the president of Russia.” The airport commander refused rudely, saying, “I have a different chief.” This was typical of dual power, thought Korzhakov. Gorbachev wasn’t being taken seriously, but Yeltsin didn’t have the mechanisms of power.[208] Nazarbayev took the call when he landed in Moscow. All three leaders spoke to him. Yeltsin read him the documents. But the Kazakh leader was deeply offended at being left out. He telephoned Gorbachev at his dacha to tell him what was happening. Furious at the turn of events, Gorbachev persuaded Nazarbayev to join him and confront the conspirators together in Moscow the following morning.

  The three men at the hunting lodge were worried that there might be a military response to what they had done. Gaidar admitted to being a little apprehensive that Gorbachev would take this option, “though I was more or less sure that it would be impossible for him to do because he would not find one regiment to obey his orders.” Shakhrai was unafraid, as “everybody knew there was no army anymore,” though he believed that the Belarusian KGB was keeping Gorbachev informed of everything going on in the forest.[209] Years later the president of Belarus, Alexander Lukashenko, bragged that if Gorbachev had given an order to the Belarusian KGB to arrest the threesome, the order would have been fulfilled “within minutes.” Gorbachev’s aide Andrey Grachev claimed that the conspirators had a helicopter standing by so they could flee to Poland if necessary, though Gaidar did not recall seeing any helicopter.[210]

  The attitude of Marshal Shaposhnikov, head of the Soviet Union’s armed forces, would be critical. Throughout Sunday morning Gorbachev kept phoning him in an agitated state, always with the same question, “What have you heard from Minsk?” Each time Shaposhnikov replied, “Nothing yet.”

  Yeltsin, with Kravchuk and Shushkevich beside him, eventually telephoned the marshal. “Today we in Belarus signed an agreement about a three-state union, Russia, Ukraine and Belarus,” he boomed down the line. “What’s your opinion about that?” Shaposhnikov asked if other republics would join in. “Yes,” said Yeltsin. “And one more question Boris Nikolayevich. Is there a reference to the armed forces in the treaty?” Yeltsin: “Yes. Of course.” The Russian president recited the article confirming that the commonwealth would preserve a common military-strategic space, including single control over nuclear weapons. He told Shaposhnikov that the three presidents had agreed that he should be the commander.

  “Does Nazarbayev approve?” asked Shaposhnikov. “Yes, he has reacted positively,” replied Yeltsin. The marshal sensed that Nazarbayev was in fact cool towards the plan, but he didn’t argue. He realized something like this was inevitable sooner or later, though he believed the leaders were less intent on destroying the Union than getting rid of Gorbachev. He accepted the post offered.[211]

  As soon as he replaced the receiver, the telephone rang again. “So, what’s happening?” barked Gorbachev. “What’s going on in Belarus?” Shaposhnikov summarized the conversation with Yeltsin, giving the impression that the Russian president had just called for advice. Gorbachev cut him short. “Don’t put your nose into somebody’s business. I’m warning you!” He slammed down the phone. Gorbachev realized Shaposhnikov had signed on to Yeltsin’s coup d’état and would always remember how he “wriggled and squirmed like a grass snake on a frying pan” as he lied.[212]

  Yeltsin was meanwhile trying to get through to President George H. W. Bush. He gave the hunting lodge operator the number of the White House in Washington. She called back flustered to say that the White House switchboard couldn’t grasp who was calling. Kozyrev took the receiver and in fluent English explained who Boris Yeltsin was and why it was important to be put through to the president.

  Bush came on the line. Yeltsin read the agreement and told the U.S. president that this was the only way out of the crisis convulsing the Soviet Union. Addressing Bush as “dear George,” he told him that the union treaty had reached an impasse and that they had decided to create a commonwealth of independent states. “I must tell you confidentially,” he said, “President Gorbachev does not know these results. Because of the friendship between us, I couldn’t wait even ten minutes to call you.”

  “I see,” said the U.S. president hesitantly. He got the impression Yeltsin was reading from a script. It dawned on him that the Russian leader had decided to dissolve the Soviet Union.

  Yeltsin assured him that the agreement recognized the five principles that the United States had stated it required for recognition of future independent states: peaceful self-determination, respect for existing borders, respect for democracy and the rule of law, respect for human rights, and respect for international law.

  The next day Bush dictated into his personal mini-recorder: “I find myself on this Monday night wondering, where was the army? They’ve been silent. What will happen? Can this get out of hand?”[213]

  Yeltsin had used the leader of the free world to his advantage. Telling Bush first had further diminished Gorbachev, and his consultation with the president of the United States im
plied that they had cleared everything with the White House.

  It fell to Shushkevich, the third ranking member of the group, to break the news to Gorbachev. It took him some time to get through. Yeltsin and Kravchuk listened as Shushkevich told the Soviet president what they had done.

  “What happens to me?” Gorbachev demanded to know. “Do you understand how this will be received by the world community?” The Belarusian leader replied, “I do understand; we have told Bush and he took it well.’”

  Gorbachev erupted at this gross discourtesy. “You talk to the president of the United States of America and the president of the country knows nothing. This is a disgrace!” He demanded to speak to Yeltsin.

  When the Russian president came on the line, Gorbachev snapped at him in cold fury. “What you have done behind my back, with the consent of the U.S. president, is a crying shame, a disgrace.” He demanded that all three Slav leaders come and explain themselves to him in the Kremlin the next day. He was convinced now of his rival’s duplicity.[214]

  The Ukrainian president laughed at the idea of giving an account of himself to Gorbachev. Kravchuk had taken such a dislike to him—the feeling was mutual—that he was offering to sell Gorbachev’s dacha at Foros in Crimea, now part of Ukraine, to anyone who would guarantee that Gorbachev would never be permitted to return there. He also wanted to get back to Kiev immediately. These were dangerous times, and he was “afraid that violent methods would be used against Ukraine.”

  Kravchuk and Shushkevich returned to their capitals rather than answer Gorbachev’s summons to Moscow. They had nothing to say to him and did not want to risk arrest. Both would later explain that they had always found him impossible to work with because he was not straightforward and forthright, qualities they found in Yeltsin. They never met Gorbachev again during his presidency.

  When Anatoly Chernyaev, who had spent that Sunday with his mistress, Lyuda, got word of the Belovezh Agreement, he started to prepare, without any conviction, to make the case against it as Gorbachev’s loyal servant. “I didn’t believe in the survival of the Union, even before the putsch,” he wrote that evening. “I continued to work on the arguments for the Union…. But why? You can only laugh.” When “low-life Kozyrev,” as Chernyaev referred to the Russian foreign minister, announced to the media that there were two solutions for Gorbachev, self-liquidation of the presidency or an August-type coup, “we, Gorbachev’s team, shit ourselves.” Nevertheless he didn’t see any alternative but to give themselves to Russia, as the Union was dead.[215]