There is no more convincing evidence of Gorbachev’s “new thinking” towards the West during his first year as general secretary than his denunciation of the traditional bias of the FCD’s political reporting. The fact that the Centre had to issue stern instructions at the end of 1985 “on the impermissibility of distortions of the factual state of affairs in messages and informational reports sent to the Central Committee of the CPSU and other ruling bodies” is a damning indictment of the KGB’s subservience to the standards of political correctness expected by previous Soviet leaders.
For all their distortions, however, intelligence reports are sometimes crucial to an understanding of Soviet foreign policy. Khrushchev’s policy towards the United States, in particular the horrendously dangerous gamble of the Cuban missile bases, was heavily influenced by erroneous reports of American preparations for a nuclear first strike. The growing authority of Andropov in the 1970s and his policymaking troika with Gromyko and Ustinov is evidence of the influence of the Centre’s intelligence assessments during the Brezhnev era. The increasingly apocalyptic language used by Andropov as Brezhnev’s successor, culminating in denunciations of the “outrageous militarist psychosis” allegedly imposed on the American people by the Reagan administration, reflected, as in the early 1960s, alarmist Centre assessments of the (non-existent) threat of an American first strike.
Despite Gorbachev’s early denunciation of KGB assessments, he came to rely on foreign intelligence in reorienting Soviet foreign policy to the United States. Hence his unprecedented decision to take the head of the FCD with him on his first visit to Washington in 1987 and his disastrous subsequent appointment of Kryuchkov as chairman of the KGB. Kryuchkov’s successor as head of the FCD, Shebarshin, insists that foreign intelligence reports were by now free from past, politically correct distortions. As the Soviet system began to crumble in 1990-91, however, some of the old, anti-American conspiracy theories began to resurface. The United States and its allies were variously accused by Kryuchkov and other senior KGB officers of infecting Soviet grain imports, seeking to undermine the rouble, plotting the disintegration of the Soviet Union and training agents to sabotage the economy, administration and scientific research.41
THE SOVIET SYSTEM found it far easier to digest scientific and technological than political intelligence. While Western politics were inherently subversive of the one-party state, most Western science was not. “The achievements of foreign technology” had first been identified as a Soviet intelligence target by Dzerzhinsky in 1925.42 By the Second World War ST, particularly in the military sphere, was seen as crucially important. Nothing did more than intelligence on BritishAmerican plans to build the first atomic bomb to bring home to Stalin and the Centre the necessity of ST in ensuring that Soviet military technology did not fall behind the West. As in the case of nuclear weapons, the early development of Soviet radar, rocketry and jet propulsion was heavily dependent on the imitation of Western technology. Stalin, indeed, had greater confidence in Western scientists than in his own. He did not trust Soviet technological innovation unless and until it was confirmed by Western experience.43
The enormous flow of Western (especially American) ST throughout the Cold War helps to explain one of the central paradoxes of a Soviet state which was famously described as “Upper Volta with missiles”: its ability to remain a military superpower while its infant mortality and other indices of social deprivation were at Third World levels. The fact that the gap between Soviet weapons systems and those of the West was far smaller than in any other area of economic production was due not merely to their enormous priority within the Soviet system but also to the remarkable success of ST collection in the West. For most of the Cold War, American business proved much easier to penetrate than the federal government. Long before the KGB finally acquired a major spy in the CIA with the walk in of Aldrich Ames in 1985, it was running a series of other mercenary agents in American defense contractors. Soviet agent penetration was accompanied by interception of the fax communications of some of the United States’ largest companies.44 During the early 1980s probably 70 percent of all current Warsaw Pact weapons systems were based on Western technology.45 To an astonishing degree, both sides in the Cold War depended on American know-how.
Andropov and, at least initially, Gorbachev, saw greater use of ST in nonmilitary spheres as one of the keys to the rejuvenation of the Soviet economy as a whole. The real economic benefit of Western scientific and technological secrets, though put by Directorate T at billions of dollars, was, however, severely limited by the structural failings of the command economy. The ideological blinkers of the Soviet system were matched by its economic rigidity and resistance to innovation by comparison with the market economies of the West. Hence the great economic paradox of the 1980s: that despite possessing large numbers of well-qualified scientists and engineers and a huge volume of ST, Soviet technology fell steadily further behind its Western rivals. Before Gorbachev’s rise to power, the extent of that decline was concealed from the Soviet leadership. Politically correct FCD reports dwelt overwhelmingly on the economic problems of the capitalist West rather than on those of the “Socialist” East. In a biennial report on foreign intelligence operations completed in February 1984, Kryuchkov emphasized “the deepening economic and social crisis in the capitalist world,” but made no mention of the far more serious crisis in the Soviet Bloc.46 Even Gorbachev, in his speech to the Twenty-Seventh Party Congress in 1986 calling for “new thinking” in Soviet foreign policy, claimed that the crisis of capitalism was continuing to worsen.47
Until the closing years of the Cold War, there was an extraordinary contrast between the Kremlin’s privileged access to the secrets of state-of-the-art Western technology and its failure to grasp the nature and extent of its own economic mismanagement. Gorbachev was the first post-war Soviet leader who gained access to moderately accurate statistics on the performance of the Soviet economy. Abel Aganbegyan, his most influential economic adviser in the early years of perestroika, calculated that between 1981 and 1985 there had been “a zero growth rate.” The revelation of the extent of Soviet economic stagnation and long-term decline relative to the West had a much more profound effect on Gorbachev’s policy than the successes of ST collection against Western targets which had previously so impressed him. By the end of the decade, he had moved from trying to rejuvenate the command economy to accepting the market as the main economic regulator.48
The conclusion of the Cold War, so far from ending Russian ST operations in the West, created new Line X opportunities through the expansion of East-West scientific exchanges and business joint ventures, which the SVR was eager to exploit. The reactivation in the early 1990s of the leading British Line X agent Michael Smith was one sign among many of the continued priority given to ST collection in the Yeltsin era.49 For the SVR, as for the FCD, the main Line X target remained the United States. The relaxation of US security checks, in an attempt to build bridges to Moscow and Beijing, led in 1994 to a dramatic increase in the number of Russian and Chinese scientists allowed to visit the Los Alamos and Sandia nuclear laboratories, as well as other institutes conducting classified research. Line X, however, has found less enthusiasm for its product than during the Cold War. The collapse of the Russian command economy left the military-industrial complex—previously the chief customer for S—in disarray. During (and perhaps even before) the Yeltsin presidency, Russian S operations seem to have been upstaged by those of the Chinese. A congressional enquiry concluded in 1999 that, over the two previous decades, China had obtained detailed intelligence on every warhead in the US nuclear arsenal.50 There is little doubt that the phenomenal achievements of Chinese ST collection were inspired, at least in part, by the Soviet Union’s earlier success in copying the first American atomic bomb and in basing the majority of its Cold War weapons systems on Western technology.
IT IS IMPORTANT not to judge the success of KGB foreign operations by purely Western standards. The Centre had,
ultimately, an even higher priority than intelligence collection in the West. The Cheka had been founded six weeks after the Bolshevik seizure of power “for a revolutionary settlement of accounts with counter-revolutionaries.” In that primary role—to defend the Bolshevik one-party state against dissent in all its forms—the Cheka and its successors were strikingly successful.
From the 1920s onwards the war against “counter-revolution” was waged abroad as well as at home. The FCD’s role in combating ideological subversion has given rise, in Yeltsin’s Russia, to a curious official amnesia. Like Kryuchkov and some other former senior FCD officers, the SVR maintains that the FCD was not involved in the persecution of dissidents and the abuse of human rights. In reality, it was centrally involved. Within the Soviet Bloc the war against ideological subversion was increasingly coordinated between the internal KGB and its foreign intelligence arm.
In the immediate aftermath of the suppression of the Hungarian Uprising by Soviet tanks in 1956, and again after the destruction of the Prague Spring in 1968, many Western observers doubted whether the genie of freedom could be quickly returned to its bottle. In fact, thanks largely to the KGB and its Hungarian and Czechoslovak allies, one-party states were restored in both Budapest and Prague with remarkable speed and success. From 1968 onwards the state of public opinion in the Soviet Bloc was carefully monitored by experienced illegals posing as Western tourists and business people, who sought out, and pretended to sympathize with, critics of the Communist regimes. In reporting on the results of these “PROGRESS operations,” the FCD was franker than it would have dared to be in analyzing, for example, satirical comments by Soviet citizens on Brezhnev’s increasing physical decrepitude.
Throughout the Cold War the KGB’s war against ideological subversion was energetically waged in foreign capitals as well as on Soviet soil. Residencies in the West had standing instructions to collect as much material as possible to assist the persecution of dissidents, both at home and abroad:
In order to take active measures against the dissidents, it is important to know of disagreements among them, differences of views and conflicts within the dissident milieu, reasons why they have arisen, and possible ways of exacerbating them; and particulars discrediting the dissidents personally (alcoholism, immoral behavior, professional decline and so forth, as well as indications of links with the CIA, Western special [intelligence] services and ideological centers).51
Residencies were also required to target many of the dissidents’ main supporters in the West. Among the KGB’s targets in Britain was the London neurologist Harold Merskey, who had campaigned on behalf of the victims of Soviet psychiatric abuse. On September 20, 1976 the London residency posted a letter to Merskey, purporting to come from an anonymous wellwisher, warning him of an imminent attempt by unidentified assailants to cause him grievous bodily harm. Merskey, it was hoped, would become preoccupied with his own personal safety and spend less time supporting the incarcerated dissidents.52
So, far from being a mere adjunct to more conventional foreign intelligence operations, the FCD’s war against the dissidents was one of its chief priorities. Among its most important operations in 1978, for example, was the attempt to ensure that the dissident Yuri Orlov did not receive the Nobel Peace Prize—as Sakharov had done three years earlier. The fact that the prize went instead to Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin was claimed by the Centre as a major triumph—though, in reality, it probably owed little to KGB active measures. Suslov, the Politburo’s leading guardian of ideological orthodoxy, was woken in the middle of the night by a phone call from the Oslo resident to be told the good news.53 There are few better indications of the importance attached to a piece of information in any political system than the decision to wake a minister.
Residencies also followed with anxious attention the emergence in some leading Western Communist parties of the Eurocommunist heresy which challenged the traditional infallibility of the Moscow line, and thus qualified as a novel form of ideological subversion. Among the more unusual active measures devised in the later 1970s were those designed to discredit Eurocommunist party leaders.54
One of the FCD’s chief priorities until the closing years of the Cold War was to seek to prevent all Soviet dissidents and defectors achieving foreign recognition—even in fields entirely divorced from politics (at least as understood in the West). Enormous time and effort was devoted by the Centre to devising ways to damage the careers of Rudolf Nureyev, Natalia Makarova and other defectors from Soviet ballet. 55 By the time the great cellist Mstislav Rostropovich (codenamed VOYAZHER, “Traveller”) left for the West in 1974, the KGB had ceased to plan operations to cause physical injury to émigrés in the performing arts, but seems to have redoubled active measure campaigns intended to give them bad reviews in the Western media. In 1976, after Rostropovich and his wife, the singer Galina Vishnevskaya, were deprived of Soviet citizenship, the Centre appealed to all Soviet Bloc intelligence services for help in finding agents to penetrate their entourage. It was outraged by Rostropovich’s appointment in 1977 as director of the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington—a post he was to retain until his return to Russia seventeen years later—but encouraged by an untypically critical review of his work with the orchestra in the Washington Post in May 1978. The Centre circulated the review to Western residencies as an example of the kind of criticism they were to encourage, and demanded that they inspire articles attacking Rostropovich’s alleged vanity, failure to live up to Western expectations, and—especially ironic in view of KGB active measures against him—his supposed attempts to manipulate the Western media.56
Dissident chess players were also the targets of major KGB operations designed to prevent them winning matches against the ideologically orthodox. During the 1978 world chess championship in the Philippines between the Soviet world champion, Anatoli Karpov, and the defector Viktor Korchnoi, the Centre assembled a team of eighteen FCD operations officers to try to ensure Korchnoi’s defeat.57 KGB active measures may well have determined the outcome of a close and controversial championship. After draws in the first seven matches, during which Korchnoi had the better of the play, Karpov refused to shake hands with his opponent at the start of the eighth. A furious Korchnoi, who was known to play poorly when angry, lost the game. After twelve games the scores were level, with Korchnoi once again appearing in better form. During the next five games, however, Korchnoi was thrown off his stride by the presence in the front of the audience of a Russian hypnotist, Dr. Vladimir Zukhar, who stared intently at him throughout the play. After seventeen games, Korchnoi was three points down. By the end of the match, he had pulled back two of his defeats but lost the championship by a single point.58 A book remains to be written about the KGB’s involvement in Soviet chess.59
POTENTIALLY THE MOST troublesome “ideological subversion” with which the KGB had to contend during the Cold War came from organized religion—especially Christianity, which failed to wither away as the Bolsheviks had hoped and expected. Though no other political party was allowed to exist within the Communist one-party state, Soviet rulers felt bound to proclaim a hypocritical respect for freedom of religion. By the end of the Second World War the attempt to eradicate religious practice had given way to subtler forms of persecution designed to ensure its steady decline and to discriminate against the faithful. Within the Russian Orthodox church the KGB was able to rely on an obedient hierarchy permeated by its agents. The Centre’s main problems came from other Christian churches and a courageous minority of Orthodox priests who demanded an end to religious persecution. For freedom of religion to make progress within the Soviet Union, however, persecuted Christians required strong support from the worldwide church—in particular from the World Council of Churches. They did not receive it. KGB agents in the WCC were remarkably successful in persuading it to concentrate on the sins of the imperialist West rather than religious persecution in the Soviet Bloc. In 1975 agent ADAMANT (Metropolitan Nikodim) was elected as one of the
WCC’s six presidents.60
The importance attached by the KGB to controlling religious dissent and denying persecuted Soviet Christians support from the West was fully justified by events in Poland, where SB penetration never succeeded in bringing the Catholic Church under political control. By the early 1970s the KGB had already identified Karol Wojtyła, Archbishop of Kraków, as a potentially dangerous opponent, unwilling to compromise on either religious freedom or human rights. Though the SB wanted to arrest him, it dared not risk the outcry which would result in both Poland and the West. Wojtyła’s election as Pope John Paul II in 1978 dealt the Polish Communist regime, and ultimately the cohesion of the Soviet Bloc, a blow from which they never recovered. During his triumphant tour of Poland in 1979, the contrast between the discredited Communist regime and the immense moral authority of the first Polish Pope was plain for all to see.61
The new freedoms of the Gorbachev era similarly went far to justifying the KGB’s earlier fears of the potential damage to the Soviet regime if political dissidents were allowed to proceed with their “ideological subversion.” In 1989, less than three years after Sakharov was freed from internal exile and allowed to return to Moscow, he established himself, as—in Gorbachev’s words—“unquestionably the outstanding personality” in the Congress of People’s Deputies. Almost all the main dissident demands of the early 1970s were now firmly placed on the political agenda.
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