Read an Excerpt
The first demonstration on Pushkin Square had taken place on December 5, 1965, with a demand for an open trial for Sinyavsky and Daniel. Since then, demonstrations had been held there every year. It was a good spot. Big enough that a couple of hundred protestors could gather there, and small enough that the demonstrators didn’t get lost on a huge square.
The ritual was always the same. At exactly six o’clock, the dissidents would uncover their heads in memory of the political prisoners who had died and were incarcerated on that day. In the December frost, it was immediately clear who had come to protest, who to grab protestors, and who were simply curious.
It was in the early 1970s that I first saw Solzhenitsyn on Pushkin Square on December 5. He was standing next to Sakharov, and both were a head taller than everyone else.
That day, there were a number of Western correspondents on the square, and for a long time the authorities hesitated to swoop down. The KGB and a Young Communist operations unit from Moscow State filled the square, grabbing out of the crowd and at the approach to the square those dissidents whose faces they knew. Some were held in police cars, others were taken away to police stations, some were just driven around town until the demonstration was over. Sometimes they played a little dirty. Once they punctured all four tires on the car of the American correspondent George Krymsky, who had parked not far from the square.
In 1976, the tradition of a silent demonstration was broken by Zinaida Mikhailovna Grigorenko, the wife of General Petro Grigorenko. She gave a brief speech about our political prisoners, and no one dared arrest her. There was a scuffle immediately after, though. The main target was Andrei Dmitrievich Sakharov. The ops unit and Chekists started throwing plastic bags of sand and sidewalk mud at him. Then things escalated to the point of a fistfight. Viktor Nekipelov and I found ourselves next to Sakharov, in a small dark recess on the square’s periphery, which was not very well lit. Andrei Dmitrievich wasn’t fit for fistfights, so Viktor and I fought for three. However, they were able to throw Sakharov in the snow, and then some hog in plainclothes lay on top of him, pressing him to the ground. I started pulling up Sakharov by the arm, shoved the hog to the ground, and held him down firmly with my foot on his belly, which made him double over, but then I got a powerful blow to the head from behind and passed out for a while. They dragged me toward a police car, but then Nekipelov got to me and also another one of ours, Yura Grimm, I think, and they snatched me away. Meanwhile, Sakharov managed to get up and join the main group of dissidents on the square, where they formed a circle around him and led him to the car of one of the Western correspondents. Andrei Dmitrievich never again participated in the Pushkin Square demonstrations.
In 1977, a new Constitution was approved and the situation changed. Not with human rights, but with the date of the holiday. Constitution Day was moved from December 5 to October 7. Heated debates sprung up among Moscow dissidents as to which day they should come out for their traditional demonstration: October 7, the new Constitution Day; or December 10, Human Rights Day. Ultimately, the international date beat out the Soviet one.
However, the KGB stepped up their game. On December 10, 1977, many well-known dissidents were blockaded in their apartments from early morning on. Others were picked up at the approach to Pushkin Square. Nonetheless, a few dozen did manage to reach the monument and hold the traditional silent demonstration.
Like many others, I was blockaded in my apartment from early morning on. At the time I was living with my friend Dima Leontiev on Novoalekseevskaya Street, a stone’s throw from the Shcherbakovskaya metro station. Actually, they didn’t even need to blockade me. By then I’d had a tail on me for weeks that recorded my every step and every conversation, breathing down my neck and stepping on my heels. This time, a few Chekists got out of their cars and stationed themselves in my entryway.
As always, lots of friends had gathered at our place. This was the situation. We were sitting in the apartment and realized that if we tried to go to Pushkin, they’d sweep us up. We could sit where we were because “they blockaded us.” Or we could go spend some time at the police station. Who said there was no freedom of choice in the Soviet Union? There was always a choice. Sitting in the station was vulgar and boring. Sitting at home meant accepting their rules of play. Tanya Osipova and I decided to force our way through—and whatever happened happened. We left the apartment. One of the Chekists from my tail warned me in the entryway: “Better not go there, it’s pointless.” In fact, before we could go a hundred meters toward the metro we were stuffed into cars and taken away to the police. They didn’t release us until ten o’clock that night.
(excerpted from chapter 3)
