A report delivered at the conference “Nonconformism and Dissent in the Soviet Bloc: Guiding Legacy or Passing Memory?” (New York, March 30 – April 1, 2011).
“Nonconformism and Dissent in the Soviet Bloc: Guiding Legacy or Passing Memory?” held at Columbia University, March 30 to April 1, 2011.
The human rights organization Amnesty International turned its attention to the resistance movement in Ukraine thanks to the appearance of documents indicating human rights violations by the Soviet regime after the brief period of Khrushchev’s “Thaw.” Relevant information was collected and compiled by Viacheslav Chornovil, a journalist from the Lviv television studio. In the form of typewritten copies, these documents were circulated among members of the Ukrainian intelligentsia and subsequently reached the West in the second half of the 1960s.
The skillfully compiled collection of documents included biographical sketches of arrested Ukrainian cultural figures, excerpts from their scholarly works and literary creations, camp correspondence, appeals to Soviet authorities, and public speeches by prominent writers, such as Ivan Dziuba’s address on the 25th anniversary of the Babyn Yar tragedy. These began to appear in Paris in the émigré weekly *Ukrainske Slovo*. In 1967, through the efforts of the first Ukrainian printing house in France, they were published as a separate book under the title *Lyukho z rozumu* (Woe from Wit)[1]. A year later, these materials were published in English translation as The Chornovil Papers[2].
The English edition generated widespread interest in the Western world, and not only from those actively involved in human rights advocacy. The courageous efforts of young representatives of the Ukrainian intelligentsia to defend their language and culture from Russification and Sovietization earned high praise from Western intellectuals and political commentators.
In the opinion of British observer Max Hayward, “...the representatives of the Ukrainian opposition demonstrate a unique combination of moderation and high intellectual level”[3]. Professor Frederick Barghoorn of Yale University (USA) notes in the foreword to The Chornovil Papers the “commonality of interests among Soviet intellectuals, with their different national faces,” while also emphasizing that “although the struggle for Ukrainian cultural heritage and language is a central feature for many Ukrainian intellectuals, they consider themselves fighters not against Russian nationalism or the fundamental principles of socialism, but against dictatorial methods of rule and a police regime”[4]. Thanks to the above characterization of Ukrainian dissidents, as well as their steadfast adherence to peaceful methods of resistance against the regime, Amnesty International unhesitatingly classified them as “prisoners of conscience.” The young, persecuted representatives of the Ukrainian intelligentsia, whose actions were documented in Chornovil’s book, became widely known both in Ukraine and abroad under the collective name of the *shestydesiatnyky*: the generation that entered the public arena in the 1960s. Most of them were poets, literary critics, philosophers, and artists who, in the late 1950s and early 1960s, did not hesitate to risk their careers, and sometimes their very lives, by openly and sharply protesting the repressive policies of the then Ukrainian authorities. The high creative level of these intellectuals, their personal courage, and integrity were perhaps most fully reflected in the person of the poet Ivan Svitlychny, the universally recognized inspirer and driving force of the dissident movement. His figure serves as a model for the next generation of creative youth to emulate. The talented poet Vasyl Stus wrote with deep respect that the *shestydesiatnyky* awakened a sense of dignity and self-respect among young Ukrainians, which had long been dormant as a result of political persecution and abuse by the Soviet regime. “These are glimmers of our humanized vision,” the poet later recalled, “a testament to our self-revival, our moral recovery”[5].
Perhaps it was the extraordinary artistic talent of the painter Opanas Zalyvakha, reproductions of whose works were published in the book *Lyukho z rozumu*, as well as the brutal conditions of his confinement in a labor camp, that became the impetus for the Washington, D.C. American section of Amnesty International to recognize him—one of the first Ukrainian political prisoners—as a “prisoner of conscience.” It is clear that Amnesty International’s efforts in defense of Zalyvakha signified support for all dissidents imprisoned in Ukraine in the early 1960s for “anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda.”
It should be noted that Zalyvakha was arrested for his political convictions, not for his refusal to adapt his art to the canons of “socialist realism” or for his non-compliance with the norms of the Soviet way of life. The fact that he was sent to a labor camp and forbidden to paint was punishment for his political beliefs, as well as for his determination to defend these beliefs even in prison. It is important to emphasize that there is a distinction between what was and continues to be considered “dissent”—that is, the readiness to risk one’s life in defense of one’s political or religious beliefs—and the broader, less distinct concept of nonconformism. Amnesty International regards all Ukrainian dissidents of the 1960s and 1970s as “prisoners of conscience,” that is, as dissidents. Attempts to view them on the same plane as nonconformism or nonconformists distort and simplify their unwavering stance on the defense of human rights. Anyone who has read the memoirs of the late Mykhailyna Kotsiubynska remembers that she was sitting next to Vasyl Stus in Kyiv’s “Ukraina” cinema on that memorable day when this young graduate student, on the threshold of a scholarly and literary career, did not hesitate to stand up bravely and declare with all resolve: “Everyone must protest now. Today they are arresting Ukrainians. Tomorrow they will be arresting Jewish activists. And then they will arrest Russians…” Anyone who has heard of this now well-known dramatic event—and along with Vasyl Stus, Viacheslav Chornovil and Ivan Dziuba also made their public protest in the cinema—will immediately sense the difference between dissent and nonconformism[6].
Alongside Zalyvakha, the American section of Amnesty International took up the case of the famous Russian dissident Vladimir Bukovsky. Besides the aforementioned Washington center, there was only one other regional human rights section in the United States in the 1960s, namely—the Riverside Group in New York. This group of human rights defenders, though not officially connected with Columbia University, nevertheless had a certain relationship with it: most of the activists were either professors or students of the university. The group was led by the chairman of the Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures, Ivan Morris—a British subject who had become a member of Amnesty International while in England, where the organization was founded in 1962. Another prominent member of the group was Professor Ainslie Embree, a well-known specialist in the field of Hindu culture. Zbigniew Brzezinski, then a professor at Columbia University, though not officially a member of the Riverside Group and never present at the monthly meetings, and furthermore, seemingly having no personal contact with the group’s leadership, was nevertheless always willing to provide support in the cause of human rights when students approached him. It was thanks to his help that the first document from Viacheslav Chornovil’s book *Lyukho z rozumu*—an appeal by Sviatoslav Karavanskyi to the Soviet authorities in defense of the cultural rights of Ukrainians and Jews—was published in the American journal *The New Leader*.
As the only member of the Riverside Group from the Russian Institute of Columbia University (now the Harriman Institute) with a knowledge of Slavic languages, I was naturally involved in the efforts to defend Opanas Zalyvakha and Vladimir Bukovsky. Ainslie Embree also gladly joined in the activities to support these two political prisoners. To better manage our work, we agreed that letters in defense of Bukovsky would be written in my name, and letters in defense of Zalyvakha—in the name of Prof. Embree. After a few years, especially after my trip to the Soviet Union in 1971 (it was a private trip, during which I was expelled from Kyiv for my involvement with Amnesty International[7]), I began either using pseudonyms or simply actively helping those who were defending dissidents in Ukraine[8].
For me and my colleagues, young people in our twenties and thirties, participating in the efforts to defend prominent human rights activists was a great spiritual inspiration. The talent and unwavering courage of the Ukrainian artist made a deep impression on us. We were also struck by the brave behavior of Vladimir Bukovsky. It has been forty years, yet I still remember our emotions perfectly when television in America broadcast a clandestinely organized interview with this Soviet dissident. It is impossible to forget the resolute face of a young man from a privileged family, impossible to forget the words for which he was arrested, but which for a long time shone in the thoughts and actions of human rights defenders throughout Eastern Europe: “It is our destiny to break the chains of fear that paralyze our society”[9]. These words were impossible to erase from memory, as they echoed in the capitals and major cities of Eastern Europe. I recall my impressions in Lviv in 1971, when Viacheslav Chornovil and I were walking through the city streets and suddenly saw around us not two or three spies, as usual, but at least a dozen. And I asked the outwardly calm, charismatic Ukrainian dissident: “Aren’t you afraid? After all, in a day or two, I will be in New York, and you and your friends have to live here...” To this, Chornovil, raising his hands to emphasize his words, answered in a calm voice, with his characteristic carefree smile: “Never forget that we are above all fear. For our goal is to completely break the chains of fear that paralyze our society. Everything we do is fully in accordance with the current laws, but in our efforts to draw the world’s attention to human rights violations, we rely on your help...” Having said this, Viacheslav Chornovil, in a single breath, in his usual recitative manner, listed the most recent flagrant violations of human rights in Ukraine. As he did so, he coughed repeatedly, a cough he was “gifted” with as a result of forced feeding during protest hunger strikes in prison. Struck by such unwavering courage, I concentrated all my attention to preserve in memory and bring to New York every single violation my interlocutor named.
On the evening of that same day, Viacheslav Chornovil managed to bring Raisa Moroz, the wife of the famous dissident Valentyn Moroz, who was imprisoned in the sinister Vladimir Prison, from Ivano-Frankivsk. It was very important for me to meet with Raisa, given that Valentyn Moroz was the second Ukrainian prisoner of conscience adopted by the Riverside Group. It should be noted that within this organization, we followed the rule of taking on a new prisoner each time if, within a year, no progress was observed in the case of the prisoner we were currently supporting. The Riverside Group’s attention was at that time focused on Greece, specifically on the human rights violations of the “Regime of the Colonels,” but at my request, the Group agreed not to cease its efforts in the case of the Ukrainian political prisoner.
Shortly after this decision, I turned to the Ukrainian community in New York for help. I received a quick positive response from representatives of the Ukrainian newspapers—*Svoboda* and the *Ukrainian Weekly*—as well as from the Ukrainian Congress Committee of America, and with their help, large demonstrations were held in front of the United Nations building and the USSR Mission in the spring of 1971. Valentyn Moroz became a symbol of the defense of human rights in Ukraine. A photo of the Ukrainian political prisoner appeared daily in *Svoboda* during the days when Valentyn Moroz was on a forty-day protest hunger strike in Vladimir Prison. Everyone was impressed by his great personal courage. Soon, committees for the defense of Moroz were created in the USA and Canada. Moroz’s articles, especially the series of essays “Report from the Beria Reserve” and “Among the Snows,” received high praise for their powerful intellectual level and their vivid and realistic portrayal of the many horrifying aspects of the Soviet punitive system. “Report from the Beria Reserve” was acclaimed by Western Sovietologists as one of the most brilliant, analytically penetrating works written by Soviet dissidents about the nature of the KGB’s methods. “The revealing power of the accusations, the profound exposure of the very essence of this criminal organization truly strikes the human psyche,” notes one Western Sovietologist[10]. Moroz physically survived his long imprisonment in the terrible torture chambers, although it did not pass without a trace, as was unfortunately manifested in his later articles. In 1979, Valentyn Moroz found himself in the USA as a result of the famous exchange of political prisoners. This was achieved thanks to the efforts of the aforementioned Columbia University professor Zbigniew Brzezinski, to whom we had begun providing information about Ukrainian political prisoners eleven years earlier.
By the mid-1970s, regional Amnesty International groups had spread throughout America. At that time, I joined the activities of the Madison Avenue Group—in particular, because this group distinguished itself by its resolution to fight for the fate of every prisoner until their release from prison to freedom[11]. The group owed this decision to its leader, Yda Zeltmann, who, at the very moment of my first appearance at a group meeting, announced that they were taking up the case of the Ukrainian nationalist Zinoviy Krasivskyi. She added that the documents received on this case from the London office of Amnesty International indicated a personal request from this prisoner and his comrades for this epithet.
The name of this Ukrainian poet first came to attention in London thanks to two former Soviet political prisoners, Viktor Fainberg and Anatoliy Radygin, who in 1974 were fortunate enough to obtain permission to emigrate to Israel. Fainberg became close to Krasivskyi in 1972 at the Serbsky Institute, a notorious *psykushka* for dissidents. Speaking in his interview about the political prisoners in this institution, the vast majority of whom were liberal intellectuals and philosophers, Fainberg vividly painted a verbal portrait of the Ukrainian dissident:
“I would like to tell you about my first meeting with Krasivskyi, because it was not an ordinary meeting. It took place at the Serbsky Institute in the winter of 1972. In the fourth block, which was run by the sinister Dr. Lunts, several prisoners of conscience of different views were held. Among them was my close friend, a wonderful person, Vatslav Sevruk. He considered himself a liberal Marxist. There was also a young Moscow engineer, imprisoned for his letter to Leonid Brezhnev—a typical capital liberal. I also remember the philosopher Devletov, a Tatar from Kazan. He considered himself a left communist. An exceptionally interesting and courageous man. We had debates, discussions among ourselves. One day, a rumor spread that a Ukrainian nationalist would be brought to our prison. One of the prisoners asked: ‘What do I have to discuss with a Ukrainian nationalist?’. But as soon as Zinoviy Krasivskyi arrived, his entire appearance, his manner of addressing people, even the very timbre of his voice immediately won general sympathy; he captivated everyone from the first moment of his appearance. And anyone who had any doubts about what, supposedly, to talk about with a Ukrainian nationalist, couldn't get enough of talking with him. Zinoviy Mykhailovych Krasivskyi became for us the highest moral and ethical authority”[12]. Krasivskyi was arrested in 1967 for his participation in an organization known as the “Ukrainian National Front.” This group belonged to one of the more radical branches of Ukrainian dissent; it advocated for the state independence of Ukraine, its secession from the Soviet Union in accordance with the right declared in the Soviet constitution. The term “nationalist” was used by Krasivskyi and his group in its primary, original sense, namely—a person convinced that every nation has the right to a separate, independent life.
The Madison Group’s efforts in defense of Krasivskyi lasted more than ten years, and the steadfastness and intransigence shown, as well as the success achieved, became a unique phenomenon in the activities of human rights organizations. Mainly thanks to the tirelessness of the Madison Group, it was possible to prevent the physical destruction of Krasivskyi in a *psykushka*, as well as in the conditions of concentration camps or Siberian exile, until the Soviet system finally collapsed in the late 1980s. An important milestone in the Madison Group's activities was the day when a reply letter arrived from our political prisoner from the *psykushka*, after more than a year of forced silence, addressed to Iris Akahoshi, the person responsible for Krasivskyi in the Madison Avenue group. The letter began: “Dear Iris! I have 31 of your letters before me, and I can’t wrap my head around how I am to answer them...” And the answers came, one after another. I remember them very well, because they were written in Ukrainian, and I was the only member of the group who knew Ukrainian. That Krasivskyi was a talented writer and a person of exceptionally fine soul was clearly felt even in my first, often hastily made translations, due to lack of time. His gratitude to the group, particularly to his most faithful correspondent, Iris, was expressed in a touching letter to Iris's husband, written after her death in 1987: “Iris came to me at a time when I was humiliated and wronged, when it seemed there were no windows or doors out of my situation... I do not doubt that she was sent to me by a Higher Power, as a ray of hope, as a life raft for a drowning man... I was resurrected, and Iris lit up for me like a bright star and did not cease to shine for many long years. I knew no other person who embodied humanistic ideas to such an extent for me as Iris did. You could be all sorts of things, but the consciousness of something reliable, stable, and enduring never left you. She was like your holy idea within you, and blessed be her name”[13].
During the oppressive days of the Brezhnev era, the appearance of former political prisoners from the Soviet Union in the West, arriving by various routes, was a great support for maintaining optimism among Western human rights organizations. The recollections of Zinoviy Krasivskyi, recorded by Yosef Mendelevich, fully corresponded to the image of the political prisoner that had formed in our imagination through the lines of the letters we already knew. “Zinoviy spoke about life in the ‘madhouse’ and the listeners sometimes grew cold with horror. One must be a person with nerves of steel, a strong psyche, and a pure soul to emerge from the ‘madhouse’ with a completely undamaged psyche. Indeed, Zinoviy strikes one with his extraordinary integrity of soul. He is like an ornament carved from a solid piece of gold... I understood very quickly that Zinoviy possessed the most refined soul impulses. A good poet, whose poems were brought out of Vladimir Prison by my friend Yuri Vudka[14], he managed to be both a poet and a stern realist-politician at the same time—a rather rare combination of qualities[15].
To confirm Krasivskyi’s political realism, his ability to foresee the course of future political events—his thoughts coincide with the views of the Czech dissident Václav Havel at that time—it is enough to quote from a letter from Krasivskyi, received on the eve of the declaration of Ukrainian independence, the achievement of which was completed with the cooperation of former leaders of the Communist Party of Ukraine: “We all know that the Soviet state represented nothing more than a band of usurpers, but we pretend that we can have democratic relations here and even parliamentary struggle. The supporters of a moderate line do not want to notice that they are sliding into accommodation and allowing themselves to be led in a vicious circle”[16].
When the last rays of hope began to disappear during the Andropov and Chernenko eras, Amnesty's activities received a new impetus from the appearance of former Soviet prisoners of conscience in the West. Nadiia Svitlychna and Petro Grigorenko deserve special attention. Both readily accepted invitations to attend Amnesty meetings. Their presence in our midst was extremely important. For although most of the group continued its dedicated and enthusiastic work, some of its members began to doubt the expediency of fighting for human rights in the communist bloc, especially after the setbacks in the widely publicized case of Shcharansky. This, however, did not apply to individuals like Iris Akahoshi, who with her aversion to politics and very faint idea of the Soviet system, or perhaps precisely because of it, never stopped writing regular letters and making other efforts to inform the world community about the desperate situation of political prisoners.
Nadia Svitlychna knew the Soviet system much better than any of the Western Sovietologists, and yet she also never slacked in her efforts to draw public attention to cases of persecution of dissidents, even when it seemed nothing could be done, as in the case of Vasyl Stus. This sense of solidarity, this firm conviction of a courageous woman, was noted by her close colleague, the literary scholar Mykhailyna Kotsiubynska, in a touching obituary upon Svitlychna's death in 2007: “Standing next to her, everyone always felt a reliable shoulder of support that would never betray them in the most difficult moments of life”[17]. It is the presence of this solid support, this solidarity of dissidents regardless of their previous life experience or national affiliation, that explains their ability to not break down mentally in the most discouraging circumstances. Given the strict control that extended throughout the territory of the totalitarian state, the Soviet capital Moscow, as a hub of foreign embassies and correspondents for major international media, was the main place from which information about political prisoners could freely spread to the West. The important role in this of the capital's human rights defenders, especially Andrei Sakharov and Lyudmila Alexeyeva, who disseminated the most important information about hunger strikes and other courageous actions of rights activists to foreign journalists, is generally well described in memoir literature. More recently, the efforts of these rights defenders have been confirmed in the memoirs of Raisa Moroz[18].
As for the question now being raised, whether the dissident movement left a lasting mark, or whether it was rather just a transient phenomenon, the events of the last two decades in Ukraine clearly testify: the long struggle of human rights defenders has, without a doubt, left an indelible mark for future generations. Events like the recent Orange Revolution would have been unthinkable if society did not cherish the memory of the courageous nonviolent struggle for human rights that dissidents waged in a seemingly hopeless situation. Moysey Fishbein, one of the most outstanding contemporary Ukrainian poets, a laureate of the prestigious Vasyl Stus literary award and the Order “For Intellectual Courage,” reflects in his work the great thoughts and noble ideas of truth-seekers whose unwavering position, regardless of repressions and persecution, prompted the emergence of Amnesty International half a century ago. In a speech during the solemn presentation of the Order “For Intellectual Courage,” he stated:
It is said: “For intellectual courage.” I do not know what that is. Is it courage—not to sell and not to be sold? Is it courage—to say what you think and to act as you say? Is it courage—to act in accordance with God’s commandments and one's own conscience? Is it courage—to create as the Almighty has given you?
Is it courage—not to push away the hand of the Lord extended to you, upon which lies His gift: the divine, God-given, God-chosen Ukrainian Language?
Is it courage—to hear the Lord’s symphony in the Language and to carry this symphony to others?
The Almighty gave me a soul—a particle of Himself. Is it courage—not to defile my soul—a particle of the Lord?[19]
Moysey Fishbein and other courageous people whose activities have been recognized by Amnesty International belong to the luminous personalities who embody something far greater than mere nonconformism. They were and continue to be noble defenders of human rights, endowed with the courage and strength not to stray from the path chosen by their conscience. They remind us of the Augustinian monk who, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, proclaimed his 95 theses and courageously declared: “Here I stand! I can do no other.”
[1] *Lyukho z rozumu (portrety dvadtsiaty “zlochyntsiv”)* [Woe from Wit (Portraits of Twenty “Criminals”)]. A collection of materials compiled by Viacheslav Chornovil. Paris: Persha ukrainska drukarnia u Frantsii, 1968.
[2] The Chornovil Papers, compiled by Vyacheslav Chornovil. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1968).
[3] Ferment in the Ukraine: Documents by V. Chornovil, K. Kandyba, L. Lukyanenko, V. Moroz and others. Michael Browne, ed. (Woodhaven, N.Y.: Crisis Press, 1973) p. xi.
[4] The Chornovil Papers, p. xi.
[5] Stus, Vasyl. *Vikna v pozaprostir* [Windows into Hyperspace]. Kyiv: Veselka, 1992. – p. 52.
[6] In my and my colleagues’ opinion, it was difficult to find anything in common between our dissident charges at Amnesty International and the long-haired, unwashed nonconformists I had seen next door when I lived in the East Village in New York in the 1960s.
[7] In a lengthy article by the journalist Shpytal, titled “The Poisonous Sting of Voyagers,” published in the newspaper *Vechirnii Kyiv* in early June 1971, I was accused of working for Ukrainian nationalists and Jewish Zionists.
[8] My involvement was so well-disguised that when the correspondence of a Ukrainian dissident with Amnesty International was published in Ukraine in 1995, the book’s editor, Myroslav Marynovych, was literally baffled by the name unknown to him—Laura Parker. And the said Ukrainian dissident, Zinoviy Krasivskyi, was very surprised when he finally learned of our “long acquaintance” in the late 1980s.
[9] These words are quoted from memory. The program was broadcast on Channel 13 in New York in 1968 or 1969.
[10] Moroz, Raisa. *Proty vitru: spohady druzhyny ukrainskoho politviaznia* [Against the Wind: Memoirs of the Wife of a Ukrainian Political Prisoner]. Lviv: Svichado, 2005. – p. 138; Peter Reddaway, Uncensored Russia (New York: American Heritage Press, 1972), pp. 286-287.
[11] The Madison Avenue Group continues its activities as Group 11.
[12] Zinoviy Krasivskyj file, Archive of Group 11, Amnesty International, New York.
[13] *Perehuk dvokh nad bezvizstiu: lystuvannia ukrainskoho politviaznia Zynoviia Krasivskoho z chlenom Mizhnarodnoi Amnistii amerykankoiu Airis Akahoshi* [An Echo of Two Over the Abyss: The Correspondence of the Ukrainian Political Prisoner Zinoviy Krasivskyi with a Member of Amnesty International, the American Iris Akahoshi]. Compiled by Liuba and Myroslav Marynovych. Kharkiv: Ihart, 1995. – pp. 151–152.
[14] Yda Zeltmann, the leader of the Group, managed to establish contact with Vudka after his emigration to Israel. He corresponded with Amnesty and provided valuable information about the Ukrainian prisoner.
[15] Mendelevich, Yosef. “A Memoir of Ukrainian Political Prisoners.” // In: *Zhaha i terpinnia: Zinovii Krasivskyi u doli ukrainskoho narodu* [Thirst and Patience: Zinoviy Krasivskyi in the Fate of the Ukrainian People]. Kyiv: Diokor, 2005, pp. 32-33.
[16] Letter from Zinoviy Krasivskyi to Anna Procyk, January 20, 1991. Zinoviy Krasivskyi Fund, Archive of Group 11, Amnesty International, New York.
[17] *Krytyka*, 2007 or 2008?
[18] Moroz, Raisa. *Proty vitru: spohady druzhyny ukrainskoho politviaznia* [Against the Wind: Memoirs of the Wife of a Ukrainian Political Prisoner]. Lviv: Svichado, 2005.
[19] http://www.khpg.org/1292923550