Revolt in the Kremlin

(See Cover Nikita Sergeevich Khrushchev beamed his golden smile into the radiotelephone that connected him with the heavens. He was talking to Russia's latest space heroes, three cosmonauts whirling high above the Black Sea resort where their leader was vacationing. He congratulated them warmly, told them to keep in good shape for the huge reception planned on their return to Moscow, then uttered an eerily prophetic goodbye. "Here is Comrade Mikoyan," Nikita chortled. "He is literally pulling the telephone from my hands. I don't think I can stop him."

He couldn't. Nor could he stop the other comrades, whoever they might be, who were about to pull power from his hands.

Khrushchev had gone to the Black Sea, as he liked to, to relax, while also tending to a little business and receiving occasional visitors. Thus the West has a witness to at least part of the story. In the morning after his talk with the cosmonauts (see SCIENCE) and his prophetic crack about Mikoyan, Khrushchev received France's Atomic Science Minister Gaston Palewski. In the midst of their conversation, a messenger burst in. Nikita excused himself, as the minister later recalled, explaining that he had to return to Moscow "for the cosmonauts." Then he disappeared into the dusk of a typically Byzantine-Communist blackout.

Most Fascinating Dictator. For outsiders, the next clue to Nikita's fate came three days later, when home-bound Moscow workers queued up before newspaper kiosks and were greeted with hastily scribbled signs: "There will be no Izvestia tonight." Something was definitely in the works. Shortly after midnight, Tass tersely announced it. Nikita Khrushchev had been "released" from all his duties "at his own request" for reasons of "age and deteriorating health." His successors were named and congratulated: Leonid Brezhnev, 57, Secretary of the Central Committee, and Aleksei Kosygin, 60, who had served as First Deputy Premier.

Brezhnev, a florid, clever politician who so far, however, has mostly performed ceremonial functions, inherited the more powerful of Khrushchev's jobs and the one that has been traditionally the key to Soviet power: the secretaryship of the Communist Party. Kosygin, a trained economist and business-minded technician who has had little political experience but may just be the smarter and deeper of the two, inherited the premiership. Both had been known as Khrushchev's proteges.

Thus, some time between the moment his French visitor saw Khrushchev's exit from his Black Sea home and the time Tass announced the news of his removal, Communism's most raucous, most human, most infuriating, and in many ways most fascinating dictator had been deposed and replaced by two of his underlings.

Flimsy Reasons. Exactly how it happened might not be clear for weeks or months, or indeed ever, but the official announcements added up to this much: there had been two meetings, one of the powerful 170-member Central Committee, which usually convenes in a cramped Kremlin conference room, and the other next day of the 30-member Presidium of the Supreme Soviet. The inference was that Khrushchev had been present at both sessions. At the Central Committee meeting, Mikhail Suslov, an ideologue who had once been a Stalinist but has more recently served as Khrushchev's polemical hatchet man in the fight with Peking, read a speech that contained the party's accusations against Nikita--nepotism, fostering a personality cult, and errors of policy toward China.

That is what happened. But why?

A great many possible explanations began swirling through the startled air. By the nature of things, no one in the West could yet be sure which of the theories or combination of theories was correct, but Kremlinologists peering into the weird logic and dark motivations of Communism were to a remarkable extent in agreement.

Even Moscow did not bother to support the flimsy official reasons--age and health. To be sure, Khrushchev at 70 was no longer the robust bullyboy who rolled in the roadside dust of Yugoslavia with Mikoyan nine years ago in an impromptu wrestling match. Lately he had been eating cabbage rather than meat on doctor's orders, and drinking mineral water rather than the vodka that once made him the life of the Party. But, in retrospect, the real causes of his downfall could be listed, and they were many.

>CHINA. Khrushchev had much sympathy in Russia and elsewhere in the Communist world in his joust with China, which involved deep national, racial and economic rivalries. But he had pressed the fight too far, or had allowed himself to be pushed too far. Specifically, he had insisted on a Dec. 15 Moscow "summit" meeting in which the Chinese were to be formally condemned as traitors to world Communism. Mao had jeeringly replied: "The day you call your so-called summit you will step into your grave." Of Khrushchev's 26 invitations, only 15 had been accepted, even those who agreed to come were leary of the result.

> THE MESS ON THE FARM. Despite his proud proclamations of expertise in agriculture (he devoted more speeches to crop yield, fertilizer and seed bulls than any 20 national leaders), Khrushchev's farm programs were disastrous. He fell for one oversimplified solution after another, kept reshuffling the administrative setup for agriculture, and dreamed of better fertilizer--all to little avail. His "virgin lands" scheme showed promise this year, thanks to a hopeful harvest, but it was too late. > "GOULASH" COMMUNISM. Most of his people cheered when he announced that Communism must first give people a decent life and then think about world revolution. They cheered when he promised that the revolution would, in fact, be accomplished by beating the capitalists on the economic front. But many were also appalled--classical Marxists, managers of heavy industry ("metal eaters," he called them) and military men --all of whom thought that heavy industry, including armaments, must continue to have top priority, rather than switching more and more resources to consumer goods. Some party economists were also shocked by Nikita's growing acceptance of the need for capitalistic incentives to achieve Soviet industrial growth.

> FAILURES AGAINST THE WEST. His adventure in Cuba two years ago ended in humiliation when the U.S. forced him to retreat. Where Stalin, armed with nothing tougher than tanks, had grabbed great swatches of territory and threatened other countries (Spain, Korea and Greece), Khrushchev, despite his ICBMs and thermonuclear terror, could gain nothing more than a small Caribbean island--and not even defend it. From the point of view of his critics, it was turning into a no-win policy, aggravated by ideological softness on capitalism. Military men also charged that he was relying on the nuclear deterrent too much, at the expense of conventional forces.

> THE SATELLITES. He proclaimed the right of each national Communist Party to self-determination, but he let this concept go too far, losing control and causing disarray in the Eastern alliance. Rumania, for instance, would not play ball with Russia's self-serving Comecon (common market); and Hungary, which Khrushchev brutally suppressed during the 1956 rebellion, became daring enough to allow scornful "political cabaret" acts to have free reign. All this illustrated the dictator's classic problem: once he loosens his grip, it is hard to know where, when, or if things will stop.

> GERMANY. Khrushchev scandalized many comrades by his planned trip to Bonn in January for conferences with Chancellor Ludwig Erhard. Coming on top of his offhand treatment of Walter Ulbricht's East Germany (the long-promised separate peace treaty has yet to be signed), this caused the suspicion that Khrushchev might want to make some sort of deal with West Germany, a country regularly denounced as neo-fascist by Moscow propaganda.

> THE "CULT OF PERSONALITY." He condemned it in Stalin, but he erected one around himself. His clowning, boorishness, shoe-pounding and endless references to buffaloes, wolves, tigers and housecleaners could at first be refreshing, in a weird way. But gradually Khrushchev became, in the words of the French Communists, "too Grand Guignol." Besides, he was stubborn and intractable. There were growing signs that the comrades were getting desperately tired of him.

No More Airlift. All of these factors, to a greater or lesser degree, were present throughout Khrushchev's ten-year reign. Indeed, his leadership of Russian Communism was gravely threatened once before. In 1957, a group of Stalinist rebels led by Malenkov met in the turbulent wake of Nikita's 20th Party Congress denunciation, which took Stalinism apart. Khrushchev was then in

Finland. The anti-Nikita faction actually mustered a majority in the Presidium, voting 7-4 to throw him out.

Always keenly sensitive to the political pulse--in those days at least--Khrushchev winged back to Moscow, called on Marshal Georgy Zhukov, then Defense Minister, who airlifted dozens of supporters into Moscow to back him in the subsequent Central Committee fight. That time he won; this time he didn't. Perhaps the opposition now was too solid; perhaps he could no longer find supporters in the armed forces; perhaps he was too weary to make the effort.

Whatever the reason, his failure in last week's struggle for power was not against neo-Stalinists--at least it did not appear that way--but against his own boys. Both Brezhnev and Kosygin were hand-picked by Nikita to buttress his domain, and consequently in the past they represented many of his own ideas and methods. On the face of it, they now stand for "Khrushchevism" without Khrushchev--the same show run more smartly, more carefully, with the old irritant out of the way. But somehow things never stay that simple for long in Soviet Russia.

Hammer & Sickle. The Kremlin's two new rulers are well-traveled, well-educated professional men--Brezhnev a metallurgical engineer, Kosygin an economist. Both have given what to all appearances is their wholehearted support to the two fundamental policies that slowly were making Russia a less revolutionary place to live in: Khrushchev's "peaceful coexistence" with the West, and his ever greater emphasis on consumer production at the expense of heavy industry and armaments. They are members of the generation that has been labeled "Communists in grey flannel suits."

But neither man fits any past Kremlin mold for power. As technocrats, both are colorless politicians. And, unlike Stalin, Malenkov and Khrushchev --each of whom had to claw his way to the seat of power--both Brezhnev and Kosygin were the logical heirs to their new posts. They had been put in line by the fallen Khrushchev.

Brezhnev (pronounced Brezh-nyoff) is a suave, energetic Ukrainian who collects antique watches and rare songbirds, has high blood pressure, is rumored to have suffered two heart attacks. His daughter Galina, 20, is one of the prettiest--and best-dressed--girls in Moscow. Regarded by Kremlinologists as intelligent, potentially more flexible than Khrushchev, he nonetheless seems to lack the touch, originality and sense of purpose which the job of First Secretary demands.

But Brezhnev can hardly be accused of dogmatism. He rose to power by playing hammer to Khrushchev's sickle: whatever Khrushchev cut down, Brezhnev managed to drive in. Son of a steelworker, he first caught Khrushchev's eye in 1938 as an effective local boss in Nikita's Ukrainian party organization. In the Red Army during the war, they worked closely together as high-ranking political commissars. Only after Khrushchev became Premier did Brezhnev really show his worth.

In 1954, struggling for power with a faction led by Georgy Malenkov, Khrushchev staked his reputation on a project which Malenkov scoffed at as impossible, then detailed loyal Teammate Brezhnev to make it come true. The project: to make the shallow, windblown topsoil of Kazakhstan's vast virgin lands grow wheat. Brezhnev, on the strength of hordes of imported farm laborers and unusually heavy rains, produced bumper harvests--until 1959, when Malenkov's prophecies came true and the area turned into a dust bowl.

"Down with Protocol." Brezhnev moved on to seats on both the party's Central Committee and the powerful

Presidium. And, instead of being blamed for the Kazakhstan disaster, he headed the investigating committee that made his successor the goat. In May 1960, he replaced the 79-year-old Kliment E. Voroshilov as President of the Soviet Union, remained in that largely ceremonial role until last July, when Khrushchev installed him as his fulltime deputy on the Central Committee.

Brezhnev converted the presidency into a portable platform, made official state visits to 14 nations as Khrushchev's traveling salesman. He was a meticulous visitor, careful to learn the names, dates and statistics dearest to the hearts of his hosts, and always friendly to the precise degree demanded by the occasion. He slipped only once. Well warmed by too many toasts of friendship during a state banquet in Iran last year, he rose, waved his glass high, roared triumphantly: "Down with protocol, long live freedom!"

Official Shadow. Aleksei Nikolaevich Kosygin, at 60, has been Khrushchev's economic czar since 1959. Pale, thin, and usually dressed in a baggy dark suit, he always seemed to be a kind of official shadow who was expected to mind the store for the ebullient proprietor. "He sits there and looks at you, and you can almost hear the wheels grinding," says one acquaintance. "Let's say he doesn't seem to have the greatest sense of humor. He isn't a funny fellow like Nikita."

But Kosygin (pronounced Koh-see-gain) is full of surprises. For one, he is probably the most pro-Western of all Kremlin leaders, often shows up at U.S. embassy cocktail parties to chat amiably in German or Russian; he was the first member of the Council of Ministers to defend Khrushchev's great backdown in the 1962 Cuban missile crisis. For another, he has been working openly to discard the production quotas and controls so sacred to his Communist predecessors, replace them with decentralized controls and added incentives to both worker and manager.

On his numerous trade missions to potential Soviet customers abroad, Kosygin heads straight for the business community, where he feels at home. He ignores the local Communist Party, where he does not. One Italian capitalist who knows him well says he is "more like a glorified businessman than a politician." Adds another: "I consider Kosygin a first-class businessman. He drives a hard bargain, but once he has reached agreement, he honors that agreement."

Cold Sober. Like Brezhnev, he rose through the ranks of Communist organization men, but faster. In 1948, he became Stalin's Finance Minister and the "baby" of the Politburo (he was 44), only to fall from favor shortly before the dictator died in 1953. Justifiably wary, Kosygin since his reinstatement on the Central Committee has steered so far from party politics that Khrushchev once chided him publicly for being a "bureaucrat."

His capacity for work amazes everyone who knows him. "He kills himself working," says a Western acquaintance. "All at the same time, he was Finance Minister, chief of the central bank and head of the chamber of commerce. It was a superhuman job." Adds former West German Ambassador Hans Kroll: "He always struck me as extremely competent. He is no phraseur, but one can talk with him. He is not cold, but he is sober. He is the very opposite of a fanatic and adventurer. To my mind, it would be quite wrong to underestimate him."

Bragging & Commandism. Actually, nobody was underestimating either Brezhnev or Kosygin. Sudden successions in Communist regimes usually result in tough leaders--witness Stalin and Khrushchev. But sudden successions also raise questions, and the first to come up was: How long will they last? As soon as correspondents noticed that Brezhnev had been missing from two official Kremlin luncheons, everyone wondered inevitably whether he, too, had been ousted. No, he was merely busy, was the word. But the rumors and doubts would continue.

The new regime was quick to promise a better, more efficient form of Khrushchevism to both the Russian people and the world at large. In so doing, it outlined a few of the sins attributable to Nikita without actually naming him. Said a Pravda editorial: "Harebrained schemes, immature conclusions, hasty decisions, bragging and phrasemongering, commandism, unwillingness to take into account the achievements of science and practical experience are alien to the Leninist party." That was phrasemongering worthy of Khrushchev himself and, indeed, some of the phrases might well have been included in Nikita's earlier blasts against Stalin.

No sooner had Khrushchev been demoted than heads began falling all around him. First to hit the tumbril was Izvestia Editor Aleksei Adzhubei, 40, the pudgy, sneering, widely resented husband of Nikita's daughter Rada. Adzhubei had feathered his nepotistic nest with sports cars for his kids, and fouled it by betraying his trusting comrades in the Soviet Writers Union. Also canned were six of Khrushchev's closest aides, from private secretary to agricultural expert.

At the same time, Moscow's new leaders were busily reassuring the West that Khrushchev's basic policies were still in effect. Soviet ambassadors from Ankara to Tokyo proclaimed a continuance of "peaceful coexistence" and detente; and in Washington, Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin spent 45 minutes with President Johnson reaffirming Russia's desire for relaxation of international tensions, increased disarmament and support for the United Nations. Johnson, for his part, was willing to give the new regime a chance to prove itself, but would brook no sudden belligerence on the Soviet Union's part.

Warm Greetings. Such belligerence seemed unlikely--at least for the time being. Just as the triumvirate of Malenkov, Molotov and Beria bided their time during the transitional year after

Stalin's death, Brezhnev and Kosygin are not likely to rush in new directions until their feet are firmly planted. But every indication was that the new B. & K. team,* trying for better relations with Red China, would move to paper over the rift. The first step would probably be a postponement of the Dec. 15 summit (an immediate cancellation might result in too serious a loss of Russian face). Another area for appeasement could lie in taking a tougher line with the West, perhaps in Berlin, maybe in Laos, where stalemate can always be unbalanced with little repercussion. At the outset at least, Brezhnev and Kosygin were playing it for continuity. At week's end they issued a relatively mild "resolution," condemning Red China for its venomous behavior toward the Soviet Union. Halfheartedly, they asked Mao to be the first to apologize.

Mao had already weighed in with hopeful-sounding praise for Russia's new leaders: "May the Chinese and Soviet peoples win one victory after another in their common struggle against imperialism headed by the United States and for the defense of world peace!" It was entirely possible that Khrushchev had been sacrificed in order to bring about a detente with Mao. But even if that were so, Chinese and Russian interests would continue to clash in the long run. With the detonation of its first nuclear bomb, Red China may feel more impelled than ever to push for leadership of the Communist world.

Forum for the Fallen? One side effect of the Russo-Chinese split has been the widely heard argument in the West that if it were not for Khrushchev in the Kremlin, a tough, pro-Chinese, belligerently anti-Western faction might take over. That is, of course, still possible. But if Khrushchev talked or practiced peaceful coexistence, it was largely because he was forced to--by his own economic troubles at home and by the nuclear "balance of terror." Both factors will continue to apply to Russia's new regime.

Says one top Washington policymaker: "I have never subscribed to the view that anyone who comes after Khrushchev would be worse. Although Khrushchev at 70 was portrayed as the benevolent grandfather, at the age of 68 1/2 he put missiles into Cuba." While the new rulers may very well have slowed down the disintegration of the Communist world, they may also have weakened Russian Communism even further--if only because of the continued power struggles that are likely to follow.

Thus last week's transition was largely on the surface. It has yet to be effected on the level that counts--with people and with policies. No one could predict whether Brezhnev and Kosygin could achieve such a change. The long history of changes within the Soviet leadership suggests that they will first have to fight it out for sole control of Russia with each other--or with some third contender who is still lurking in the woodwork. Such speculation was rife. It happened that way with Stalin, and again with Khrushchev. And meanwhile, the man who had set up the whole problem, Nikita himself, was out of sight, his whereabouts unknown. According to one rumor, he was still free, writing a rebuttal to the Central Committee's charges against him. But his chances of ever being heard were slim. Even in the liberalized Russia he had created, there was still no forum for the fallen.

*Also used for Bulganin and Khrushchev, before Khrushchev kicked Bulganin out in 1958.

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