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to cease ﬁre, for Soviet threats had been issued only after that outcome was

no longer in doubt.

The Soviet invasion of Hungary, which coincided with the Suez crisis, put

Khrushchev’s d

etente campaign on hold. He resumed it in 1957 and 1958,

including a series of hints that he would welcome an invitation to come to

the United States for informal talks with President Eisenhower, but got lit-

tle response.

In the meantime, the German situation worsened, with East

Germany lagging behind West Germany economically, and steadily losing

skilled workers and professionals to the West, and with West Germany seem-

ing likely to gain access to nuclear weapons. By the autumn of 1958, recalled

Khrushchev’s foreign policy adviser, Oleg Troianovskii, West Germany was

‘being drawn ever deeper into the Western alliance; the arms race was gather-

ing steam and spreading into outer space; disarmament negotiations were get-

ting nowhere with defence spending weighing more heavily on the economy;

East Germany was isolated and under pressure as before; the Soviet Union was

being surrounded by American military bases; new military blocs were being

set up in Asia and the Middle East’. To make matters worse, Troianovskii

remembers ‘voices saying ever more distinctly that if the Soviet Union had

to choose between the West and China, preference should be given to the

latter’.

Khrushchev’s answer to practically all these problems was the Berlin ulti-

matum that he issued in November 1958: If the West did not recognise the

German Democratic Republic, Moscow would give it control over access to

Berlin, thus abrogating Western rights established in the post-war Potsdam

accords. If the West tried forcibly to prevent East Germany from carrying

out its new duties, the USSR would ﬁght to defend its ally. This ultimatum

was Khrushchev’s way of forcing the Western powers into talks, but his ‘plan’

had several serious ﬂaws. He was not sure exactly where he was going or

how to get there. Nor did he realistically assess the obstacles in his way, par-

ticularly the shrewdly stubborn German chancellor, Konrad Adenauer, the

imperiously disdainful French president, Charles de Gaulle, the well-disposed

but insufﬁciently inﬂuential British prime minister, Harold Macmillan and the

unexpectedly unreliable President Eisenhower.

The Berlin ultimatum produced a deadlock until Eisenhower suddenly

invited Khrushchev to visit the United States in September 1959. While

41 See Taubman, Khrushchev,pp.400–2.

42 Oleg Troianovskii, Cherez gody i rasstoianiia (Moscow: Vagrius, 1997), pp. 208–9;

Troianovskii, ‘The Making of Soviet Foreign Policy’, in Taubman, Khrushchev and

Gleason (eds.), Nikita Khrushchev,p.216.

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Khrushchev’s reception was mixed, the very fact of the visit, the ﬁrst ever

by a Soviet leader, was stunning. But the diplomatic results were also mixed:

Khrushchev’s only concession was to lift the ultimatum, or rather, not to deny

that he had done so. All he got in return was Eisenhower’s promise to attend

Khrushchev’s long-sought summit, which neither committed NATO allies to

do so, nor ensured that useful accords would ensue if they did.

After a delay of several months (occasioned by French and German resis-

tance), the four-power summit convened in Paris in May 1960, or rather, failed

to convene because of a crisis triggered by an American U-2 spy plane’s over-

ﬂight of the USSR on 1 May. Once the summit collapsed, after Eisenhower

rejected Khrushchev’s demand that he apologise and promise never to do it

again, the Soviet leader angrily gave up on Eisenhower and placed his hopes

for progress in the next American president, John Kennedy. But their bilateral

summit, in June 1961 in Vienna, produced a further stalemate, while convinc-

ing Khrushchev that Kennedy was weak. ‘What can I tell you?’ Khrushchev

said to Troianovskii after his ﬁrst negotiating session with Kennedy. ‘This man

is very inexperienced, even immature. Compared to him, Eisenhower was a

man of intelligence and vision.’

So that when the summit was followed by

an exchange of threats, which further accelerated the ﬂight of East German

refugees, Khrushchev dared to authorise construction of the Berlin wall. The

wall was a second-best substitute for the more general German solution he

had been seeking since 1958, but Khrushchev was pleasantly surprised when

President Kennedy accepted it, an impression that convinced him that he could

pressure Kennedy again, thus setting the stage for the most explosive Cold War

crisis of all in Cuba.

In the summer and early autumn of 1962, Moscow secretly sent to Cuba

missiles capable of reaching the American homeland. The crisis that ensued

after Washington discovered the rockets lasted until Khrushchev agreed to

remove them in return for an American promise not to invade Cuba, as well

as a secret American undertaking to remove US missiles stationed in Turkey.

Historians have cited several Soviet motives for the missile deployment: to

protect Cuba from an invasion following on from the failed intervention at the

Bay of Pigs in April 1961; to rectify what had turned out, despite Khrushchev’s

atomic boasting, to be a strategic nuclear imbalance in Washington’s favour;

to prepare a new move to achieve the larger German solution which had

eluded Khrushchev since 1958. In fact, all three motives probably played a

role, as ﬁltered through the mind of a man who by 1962 was also besieged by

43 Troianovskii, Cherez gody,p.234.

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agricultural and other troubles at home and was looking for a Cuban triumph

that might solve, or at least overshadow, all these problems.

When the crisis was over, Khrushchev declared a kind of victory: it had

proved possible, he told the USSR Supreme Soviet on 12 December, ‘to prevent

the invasion’, and to ‘overcome a crisis that threatened thermonuclear war’.

‘He made a showof having been brave,’ his Presidium colleague PetrDemichev

recalled, ‘but we could tell by his behaviour, especially by his irritability, that

he felt it had been a defeat.’

Endgame

After the collapse of his Cuban adventure, Khrushchev tried to address foreign

and domestic problems whose solutions had so far eluded him, but without

the positive momentum which a Cuban triumph would have provided. He

did manage to negotiate a treaty with the Americans and the British banning

nuclear testing in the air, underwater and in outer space, the most important

arms control agreement since the start of the Cold War, as well as one estab-

lishing a ‘hot line’ for communicating during crises. But the assassination of

President Kennedy in November 1963 put an end to hopes for another sum-

mit which would establish a new Soviet–American relationship, as the Vienna

meeting had not.

The division of the Communist Party into agricultural and industrial

branches, about which a Soviet journalist heard ‘not one good word’, but

‘only bewilderment and outright rejection’ behind the scenes at the Novem-

ber 1962 Central Committee plenum which unanimously adopted the plan,

failed to energise agriculture, and neither did a plan for quadrupling Soviet

chemical fertiliser production in four years.

When drought struck in 1963,

the Soviet people found themselves standing in bread queues only two years

after having been promised milk and honey without limit in the new party

programme. Moscow eventually agreed to purchases of 6.8 million tons of

grain from Canada, almost 2 million from the United States, 1.8 million from

Australia, even 400,000 from lowly Romania.

As late as November 1962, liberal writers and artists were still pushing the

Thaw forward. The publication that month of Solzhenitsyn’s One Day in the

Life of Ivan Denisovich seemed a harbinger of more gains to come. Rather than

44 Taubman, Khrushchev,pp.529–41. 45 Pravda, 13 Dec. 1962,p.2.

46 Author’s interview with Petr Demichev, Aug. 1993, Moscow.

47 Nikolai Barsukov, ‘The Rise to Power’, in Taubman, Khrushchev and Gleason, Nikita

Khrushchev,p.62.

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sparking a sustained burst of glasnost’, however, November marked a retreat

as cultural conservatives, who had been waiting for an opportunity to move

against their intelligentsia foes, cleverly exploited Khrushchev’ssour post-Cuba

mood. By moving a small exhibit of avant-garde art from an artist’s studio to

the huge Manezh exhibition hall, and then inviting Khrushchev to view it,

they provoked him into an obscenity-laced tirade against the offending artists.

He tried to revert to his more open-minded, benevolent self by inviting some

four hundred intellectuals to a lavish reception on 17 December, but instead

he erupted again in a vituperative attack on unorthodox art. Yet a third surreal

session with artists, writers and others followed in March 1963 at the Kremlin.

As in December, Khrushchev’s aides had prepared a balanced, moderate text,

but once again, one of them recalled, Khrushchev ‘did not use a word of it’.

Instead he lambasted writers like Andrei Voznesenskii and Vasilii Aksionov so

wildly as to raise doubts as to whether Khrushchev himself was in his right

mind.

Khrushchev’s reformist impulses were not entirely ﬁnished. In his last

years in ofﬁce, proposals for radical economic reform developed by Khar’kov

economist Evsei Liberman started appearing in Pravda. During a visit to

Yugoslavia in the late summer of 1963 Khrushchev displayed interestin Yugoslav

‘self-management’ based on ‘workers’ councils’. But he was no longer capable

of implementing radical new ideas even if he had adopted them. By this time

he was also ignoring his Presidium colleagues, having withdrawn instead into

an inner circle of aides and advisers. Nor was he listening to high-ranking

military men. They had previously been alienated by three rounds of deep

cuts in Soviet armed forces which Khrushchev had ordered between 1955

and 1957,in1958 and again in 1960 (approximately 2 million, 300,000 and

another 1.2 million respectively), and by his decision to rely on nuclear missiles

rather than conventional forces. Their leader hardly hid his assumption that

he knew military affairs better than they did, and they could not conceal their

resentment.

Overthrow

The Soviet Union possessed no established procedure for transferring power.

After Lenin and Stalin died, the battle to succeed them had shaken the political

system. The trouble with a ﬁxed term for the leader, and a regularised process

48 Author’s interview with Georgii Kunitsyn, August 1993, Moscow.

49 See Taubman, Khrushchev,pp.378–81, 618.

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for replacing him, was that they would limit the leader himself. Even hand-

picking a successor was problematic since an ambitious heir apparent could

threaten his sponsor. The way to reduce that danger was to have two rival

heirs share power, but that might ensure a destructive contest later on.

In 1962, Frol Kozlov, the former Leningrad party boss who had become

Khrushchev’s de facto deputy, led the ﬁeld of future contenders. But Kozlov

began to alienate his boss in early 1963 (less because he led a conservative

faction as some Western Kremlinologists surmised at the time, and more as

a result of what seemed like personal arrogance to Khrushchev), and later

that year he suffered a major stroke that removed him from the running. In

1964 Khrushchev in effect elevated Leonid Brezhnev to deputy party leader,

but at the same time he made Ukrainian party boss Nikolai Podgornyi a rival

heir apparent. Beginning in the spring of that year, the two men put aside

their mutual suspicions and combined in a conspiracy against Khrushchev.

In March, they began approaching fellow Presidium members about remov-

ing Khrushchev. In June Brezhnev went so far as brieﬂy to consider having

Khrushchev arrested as he returned from a foreign trip. Instead, he and his

fellow plotters spent the summer and early autumn secretly securing the sup-

port of Central Committee members so as to avoid the fate of Khrushchev’s

rivals in 1957.

On the evening of 12 October, Brezhnev telephoned Khrushchev, who was

vacationing in Pitsunda on the Black Sea coast, and asked him to return to the

Kremlin for a meeting of the Presidium. After initially objecting, Khrushchev

agreed to ﬂy back the next day. When he arrived, his Presidium colleagues

took turns indicting him for destructive policies both foreign and domestic,

ranging from agriculture to Berlin and Cuba. Most of all they emphasised

his personal shortcomings: his impulsiveness and explosiveness, his unilateral,

arbitrary leadership, his megalomania. After a brief and halting attempt to

defend himself, Khrushchev offered no resistance. No one defended him, not

even his closest associate on the Presidium Anastas Mikoyan, who was willing

to have Khrushchev stay on as prime minister while stepping down as party

leader.

The next day the Presidium granted Khrushchev’s ‘request’ to retire ‘in

connection with his advanced age and deterioration of his health’. Khrushchev

lived under what amounted to house arrest for the next seven years. He died

on 11 September 1971.

50 See ibid., pp. 10–16.

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Legacy

As a man and a leader, Khrushchev was as two-sided as the Ernst Neizvestny

monument, consisting of intersecting slabs of white marble and black granite,

which stands at his grave site: Stalinist-turned-de-Staliniser, complicit in great

evil yet also the author of much good. The legacy of the Khrushchev period as

a whole is more unambiguously positive. Mikhail Gorbachev and his reformist

colleagues came to political maturity at the time and remembered its greater

openness with optimism and nostalgia. Gorbachev’s generation, he once said,

considered itself ‘children of the Twentieth Congress’, and regarded the task

of renewing what Khrushchev had begun as ‘our obligation’.

And in this they

had the support of a much wider circle of shestidesiatniki (men and women

of the 1960s) who had long dreamed of recapturing the hope and idealism of

their youth. As Lyudmilla Alexseyeva, who later became a leading dissident,

recalled, Khrushchev’s speech denouncing Stalin ‘put an end to our lonely

questioning of the Soviet system. Young men and women began to lose their

fear of sharing views, knowledge, beliefs, questions. Every night we gathered

in cramped apartments to recite poetry, read “unofﬁcial” prose, and swap

stories that, taken together, yielded a realistic picture of what was going on in

our country. That was the time of our awakening.’

Beneath the surface, the reforms of the Khrushchev period, awkward and

erratic though they were, allowed a nascent civil society to take shape where

Stalinism had created a desert. It would take nearly three decades for the seeds

that were planted under Khrushchev to bear fruit, but eventually they did.

51 N. S. Khrushchev (1894–1971),p.6.

52 Lyudmilla Alexseyeva and Paul Goldberg, The Thaw Generation: Coming of Age in the

Post-Stalin Era (Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh University Press, 1993), p. 4.

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The Brezhnev era

stephen e. hanson

The nature of Soviet politics and society during Leonid Brezhnev’s tenure as

General Secretary of the CPSU from 1964 to 1982 has until recently remained a

comparatively unexplored scholarly topic. Among historians, the turn towards

social history ‘from below’ that has so greatly enriched our understanding of

the Soviet regime under Lenin and Stalin has yet to inspire a parallel re-

examination of everyday life in the Brezhnev era.

Meanwhile, political scien-

tists, with few exceptions, have given up study of the pre-Gorbachev Soviet

Union to focus on more contemporary themes.

Compounding these gaps

within history and political science are continuing problems of documenta-

tion. Although the records of Central Committee plenums and many materials

from the CPSU General Department archive from the period are now avail-

able, and important archival materials are also accessible in many of the former

Soviet republics, other key historical archives from the period – in particular,

the so-called Presidential Archive containing documentation of meetings of

the CPSU Politburo and Secretariat, as well as the KGB, military and foreign

intelligence archives – remain largely closed to independent scholars. Post-

1991 memoirs by Soviet high ofﬁcials and their relatives – although many do

cover the Brezhnev era – have tended to emphasise developments during the

The author would like to thank Mariana Markova and Toregeldi Tuleubayev for research

assistance, and Mark Kramer for invaluable feedback on an earlier draft of this chapter.

1 Useful accounts of everyday life in the Brezhnev era can be found in Caroline Humphrey,

Karl Marx Collective: Economy, Society, and Religion in a Siberian Collective Farm (Cambridge

and NewYork: Cambridge University Press, 1983); Victor Zaslavsky, The Neo-StalinistState:

Class, Ethnicity and Consensus in Soviet Society (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 1982); and John

Bushnell, Moscow Grafﬁti: Language and Subculture (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990).

2 The exceptions include Steven Solnick, Stealing the State: Control and Collapse in Soviet

Institutions (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998); Brian Taylor, Politics and

the Russian Army (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003); Matthew

Evangelista, Unarmed Forces: The Transnational Movement to End the Cold War (Ithaca,

N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2002); and Yitzhak M. Brudny, Reinventing Russia: Russian

Nationalism and the Collapse of the Soviet State, 1953–1991 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard

University Press, 1998).

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Gorbachev period. And despite the presence of millions of eyewitnesses still

living in the former Soviet Union today, transcriptions of oral histories of the

period are practically non-existent.

Finally, scholars also lack a consensual ana-

lytical framework for making sense of Brezhnevism as a regime type. Indeed,

several contradictory labels for the period continue to coexist in both popular

and scholarly accounts.

One inﬂuential approach derived from the totalitarian model of Soviet

politics saw the Brezhnev era as one of ‘oligarchical petriﬁcation’, in which the

essential institutional features of the Stalinist system were left intact with only

minor adjustments, leading to a long-term pattern of political immobilism and

economic decline.

This interpretation later got an unanticipated boost from

Mikhail Gorbachev, whose ritual invocation of the phrase ‘era of stagnation’

(era zastoia) to describe the pre-perestroika period has greatly inﬂuenced the

historicalaccounts of both RussianandWestern scholars. Brezhnev andhis elite

are thus remembered as a group of sick old men, with dozens of meaningless

medals pinned to their chests, presiding over an increasingly dysfunctional

military-industrial complex.

Of course, this image captures some important part of the reality of the

Brezhnev regime, particularly in its later stages. Yet it is instructive to remem-

ber that perhaps the most inﬂuential school of thought among Soviet specialists

during the Brezhnev era itself, the modernisation approach, saw the post-1964

period very differently – as marking the triumph of rationality and develop-

ment over the ‘Utopian’ impulses of Lenin, Stalin and Khrushchev.

Scholars

3 Memoirs that cover the Brezhnev era in some depth include Luba Brezhneva, The World

I Left Behind: Pieces of a Past (New York: Random House, 1995); Anatoly Dobrynin, In

Conﬁdence: Moscow’s Ambassador to America’s Six Cold War Presidents (1 962–1986) (New

York: Random House, 1995); Mikhail Gorbachev, Zhizn’ i reformy (Moscow: Novosti,

1995); Evgenii I. Chazov, Zdorov’e i vlast’: vospominaniia ‘kremlevskogo vracha’ (Moscow:

Novosti, 1992); Vladimir Medvedev, Chelovek za spinoi (Moskva: ‘Russlit’, 1994); Aleksandr

I.Yakovlev, Omut pamiati (Moscow: Vagrius, 2000); Viktor V. Grishin, Ot Khrushcheva do

Gorbacheva: politicheskie portrety piati gensekov i A.N. Kosygina: memuary (Moscow: ASPOL,

1996); A. S. Cherniaev, Moia zhizn’ i moie vremya (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia,

1995); and Andrei M. Aleksandrov-Agentov, Ot Kollontai do Gorbacheva: vospominaniia diplo-

mata, sovetnika A. A. Gromyko, pomoshchnikaL. I. Brezhneva, Iu. V. Andropova, K. U. Chernenko

i M. S. Gorbacheva (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnye Otnosheniia, 1994). For a pathbreaking

study of the late Soviet era based on eyewitness accounts, see Alexei Yurchak, Everything

was Forever, until it was No More: The Last Soviet Generation (Princeton; Princeton University

Press, 2006).

4 Zbigniew Brzezinski, ‘The Soviet Political System: Transformation or Degeneration?’,

in Brzezinski (ed.), Dilemmas of Change in Soviet Politics (New York: Columbia University

Press, 1969), pp. 1–34.

5 Richard Lowenthal, ‘Development vs. Utopia in Communist Policy’, in Chalmers John-

son (ed.), Change in Communist Systems (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 1970),

pp. 33–116.

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stephen e. hanson

in this camp competed in the 1970s to apply a whole series of models drawn

from the comparative politics of developed countries to help interpret the

new, seemingly more stable and successful, Soviet reality. Jerry Hough saw the

Brezhnev regime as a ‘return to normalcy’ in which an ‘institutional pluralism’

similar to that characterising Western democracies had taken shape; Soviet

regional party secretaries, in his view, functioned very much like ‘prefects’

in modern France, using personal initiative to solve local economic prob-

lems in an essentially rational manner.

Skilling and Grifﬁths edited a widely

read volume of essays applying Western ‘interest group theory’ to the Soviet

case.

George Breslauer termed the Brezhnev regime a form of ‘welfare-state

authoritarianism’; Valerie Bunce and John Nichols, while sharing Breslauer’s

emphasis on the Soviet regime’s social welfare orientation, preferred the term

‘corporatism’.

Given that most of these models were designed to explain what was then

seen as the relative stability and success of Brezhnevism, it is easy to discount

their conceptual utility now. Yet modernisation theory, with its emphasis on

understanding how Soviet institutions actually functioned, captured some-

thing important about the Brezhnev era that is too often lost in post-1991

analyses. This was, after all, a leadership that endured for nearly two decades,

during which time the USSR was universally acknowledged to be second only

to the United States in world power and inﬂuence. Brezhnev himself initially

impressed his subordinates as far more competent and reasonable than his

predecessor Khrushchev – at least until his illness in the later 1970s, when as

one high-ranking party ofﬁcial put it, ‘the Brezhnev we used to know had

become completely different’.

In the popular mythology of contemporary

Russia, too, Brezhnev’s reign is often seen as a ‘golden era’ of stability and con-

sumer abundance, when Soviet achievements in space exploration and sport

were the envy of the world. Such nostalgia cannot substitute for objective

6 Jerry F. Hough, The Soviet Prefects: The Local Party Organs in Industrial Decisionmaking (Cam-

bridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969); The Soviet Union and Social Science Theory

(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1977); Jerry F. Hough and Merle Fainsod,

How the Soviet Union is Governed (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1979).

7 H. GordonSkilling and FranklynGrifﬁths (eds.),InterestGroups in SovietPolitics (Princeton:

Princeton University Press, 1971).

8 George Breslauer, ‘On the Adaptability of Soviet Welfare-State Authoritarianism’, in Erik

P. Hoffmann and Robin F. Laird (eds.), The Soviet Polity in the Modern World (New York:

Aldine, 1984); Valerie Bunce and John M. Nichols III, ‘Soviet Politics in the Brezhnev Era:

“Pluralism” or “Corporatism”?’, in Donald R. Kelley (ed.), Soviet Politics in the Brezhnev

Era (New York: Praeger, 1980), pp. 1–26.

9 Ziia Nuriev, quoted in Evan Mawdsley and Stephen White, The Soviet Elite from Lenin

to Gorbachev: The Central Committee and its Members, 1917–1991 (Oxford and New York:

Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 182.

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The Brezhnev era

historical understanding of the period, but its persistence and power among

many who lived through the period must nonetheless be explained.

In short, the Brezhnev era was somehow both a time of modernisation,

stability and accomplishment and a time of decay, stagnation and corruption.

How are we to make sense of this paradox? This chapter will argue that the

complex nature of Brezhnevism must be understood through a deeper anal-

ysis of the underlying ideological project of the Soviet regime from 1917 to

1991. The totalitarian model interpreted the Bolshevik revolution as a power

grab by revolutionary extremists whose ultimate goal was total control over

society; Brezhnevism from this perspective was simply a degenerate form of

one-party rule in the same basic mould as its Stalinist predecessor. The mod-

ernisation approach saw the Bolshevik revolution as containing the seeds of a

breakthrough towards ‘modern’ forms of political and economic organisation;

Brezhnevism (like Khrushchevism before it and Gorbachevism after it) was

thus seen as another stage in the inevitable emergence of a more fully ‘ratio-

nal’ Soviet system. Neither school, however, fully grasped the ways in which

Lenin, Stalin and their successors interpreted their own historical mission: as

the creation of a new, socialist way of life, meant to make modernity itself

‘revolutionary’. Lenin’s invention of the Bolshevik ‘party of professional rev-

olutionaries’, and Stalin’s imposition of a socio-economic system built upon

‘planned heroism’, can both be understood as institutional expressions of this

attempted synthesis of modern bureaucratic rationality and charismatic tran-

scendence of social constraints.

With Brezhnev’s emergence as party leader in 1964, power passed to the

ﬁrst generation to come of age under Soviet rule, whose promotions within

the party and state apparatuses were a direct reward for their ﬁdelity to this

project and success in implementing it (including their willingness to arrest

and kill millions of supposed ‘enemies’ of socialism).

Five decades after the

Bolshevik revolution, however, the revolutionary dream of transforming the

nature of modernity itself was increasingly giving way to complacency among

the older generation – who had already proven their credentials as socialist

heroes – and to cynicism on the part of many Soviet young people, for whom

ideological rhetoric about perfecting socialism sounded increasingly irrelevant

and embarrassing. Given the regime’s professed goal of making modernity

10 Ken Jowitt, New World Disorder: The Leninist Extinction (Berkeley: University of California

Press, 1992); Stephen E. Hanson, Time and Revolution: Marxism and the Design of Soviet

Institutions (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1997).

11 Sheila Fitzpatrick, ‘Stalin and the Making of a New Elite, 1928–1939’, Slavic Review 38, 3

(1979); Mawdsley and White, The Soviet Elite from Lenin to Gorbachev.

295