Yeltsin arrived at Old Square bandaged, his face and lips of a violet color, and dazed by the medication. Aleksandr Korzhakov and Chazov both write in their books that he had received a potent shot of baralgin, an analgesic and antispasm agent. He felt so poorly, Yeltsin was to say in 2000, “that it seemed like I would die right there, in the meeting hall.”77 KGB officers had roped off the first three rows of the gorkom’s auditorium. Pre-selected speakers filed in and filled up the seats—“flushed, quaking, like borzois [Russian wolfhounds] before the hunt.”78 In his introduction to the meeting, Gorbachev said his erstwhile protégé had taken “an exclusive position” on political issues and “put his personal ambitions above the interests of the party.” Yeltsin’s October speech “did not contain a single constructive suggestion” and showed he had forfeited the party’s trust.79
Twenty-three borzois then subjected Yeltsin to yet another round-robin hazing. No one from the bureau or the parent city committee, not Mayor Saikin or any of the party secretaries, emitted a benevolent peep, which cut Yeltsin to the quick. A select few were temperate. Alla Nizovtseva, a secretary of the gorkom, said she had met many times with the first secretary and never heard him say anything unfaithful. But he had swerved off the rails, and they had not seen it coming: “We really deluded ourselves, we… overestimated his savvy and knowledge.”80 One brave soul, cosmonaut Aleksei Yeliseyev, now the rector of the Bauman Technical University, flayed committee members for coming out against Yeltsin only when it was politically convenient and for denying responsibility for his errors. Most of the other speakers would not take any of the blame.
Some of the vitriol came from officials whom Yeltsin had demoted or dressed down since December 1985. “You have ground everything into dust and ashes,” Vladimir Protopopov, a professor of economics, formerly a raion first secretary, declared, “but when it was time for something creative all you did, Boris Nikolayevich, was stumble around.” Yurii Prokof’ev, a party apparatchik banished to city hall, reminded Yeltsin of his comments to the Twenty-Seventh CPSU Congress in 1986, when he said he had lacked the courage and political experience to speak out before then. “So far as courage goes, you have it, but you have never had political maturity and you do not have it now. The only way to explain that is by reference to your character.” A. N. Nikolayev of Bauman raion stated that Yeltsin had committed “a party crime” and “blasphemy” and “qualified for the same bossman syndrome against which he spoke so angrily at the [1986] party congress.” As an example of the syndrome, A. I. Zemskov from Voroshilov district cited Yeltsin’s inattentiveness to the courtesies Viktor Grishin had been master of: “It is repugnant when not a single raikom [district party committee] secretary… has been able to phone the city secretary direct. Over the course of two years, we have had to report to an assistant why the first secretary of a raikom wants to have a word with the first secretary of the gorkom.” Consecutive orators bandied about invidious comparisons: to Napoleon again (“elements of Bonapartism”); to a prancing general on horseback (“on your steed in front of the man on the street”); to Julius Caesar (“‘I came, I saw, I conquered’ is not the motto for us”); even, with a snicker, to Christ (anti-communists “are trying to make out of Boris Nikolayevich a Jesus Christ who has been tortured for his frightfully revolutionary love of social renewal and democracy”). Some of these speakers were later to ask Yeltsin’s pardon,81 but that evening the schadenfreude hung over the hall.
Yeltsin went up to the microphone, Gorbachev holding him by the elbow. As he spoke, communists in the first three rows stamped their feet and hissed “Doloi!”—“Down with him!” Gorbachev motioned them down and said, “That’s enough, stop it.”82 Yeltsin recanted more abjectly than he had at the Central Committee plenum or the Politburo—before the party, before his Moscow comrades, and “before Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev, whose authority is so high in our organization, in our country, and in the entire world.” “The ambition talked about today” had been his siren song. “I tried to struggle with it, without success.” Were he to transgress in the future, he said, he ought to be expelled from the party.
When the meeting was over and Gorbachev and the audience were gone, Yeltsin, overwrought, put his head down on the presidium table.83 Back at the hospital, Naina exploded that the guards were no better than Nazis—the worst abuse that could be hurtled by a Soviet citizen of her generation—and asked them to tell Gorbachev, whose orders they had carried out, that he was a criminal.84
The resolution of the city committee gave Yeltsin’s position to Lev Zaikov, the blimpish Central Committee secretary for the military-industrial complex, the same job Yakov Ryabov had held in the 1970s. Zaikov, a former mayor of Leningrad, had been appointed a CPSU secretary in July 1985, the same day as Yeltsin, and to the Politburo in February 1986. The morning of November 13, Pravda led with an abridged transcript of the November 11 meeting. On February 18, 1988, two years to the day after the Central Committee elevated him to candidate member of the Politburo, it voted him out. Zaikov crowed to editor Mikhail Poltoranin that “the Yeltsin epoch is over.”85
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Yeltsin Phenomenon
Yeltsin was moved in early December 1987 from the principal Kremlin hospital in the city to the forest calm of the Soviet government’s sanitarium in Barvikha, west of Moscow. He was there through February 1988. His mother visited from Sverdlovsk. Student friends from Urals Polytechnic sent flowers, get-well cards, and one caller a week. Yeltsin depicts the stay in Confession on an Assigned Theme as a fugue of obsessional self-analysis and indifference to normal temporal rhythms:
It is hard to describe the state I was in…. I was analyzing every step I had ever taken, every word I had spoken, my principles, my views of the past, present, and future… day and night, day and night…. I summoned up the images of hundreds of people, friends, comrades, neighbors, and workmates. I reviewed my relationships with my wife, children, and grandchildren. I reviewed my beliefs. All that was left where my heart had been was a burnt-out cinder. Everything around me and within me was incinerated. Yes, it was a time of fierce struggle with myself. I knew that if I lost that fight, everything I had worked for in my life would be lost…. It was like the torments of hell…. I later heard gossip that I had contemplated suicide…. Although the position in which I found myself might drive someone to that simple way out, it was not in my character to give up.1
Confession was thrown together as a book in the fall of 1989, when Yeltsin was aiming for a political effect, and contains a certain amount of self-mythologization. There is some of that in this passage. From what I have heard from family members, however, Yeltsin’s torments were not feigned. His dissociation from reality was a kind of “moratorium,” as some psychoanalysts term it: a time away for cleansing and reorientation that in many cultures is reserved for the young.2 It was necessary to Yeltsin’s recovery, personal and political.
As Boris Yeltsin exorcized his private demons, his Central Committee gambit was having far-reaching reverberations in the public square. That a ranking politico had summarily fallen from grace was standard stuff for those who knew their Soviet history. But the synergy with reforming communism gave a new twist to this Icarus crash. In the game of transitional politics, the short-term loser had seized what a game theorist would categorize as a “first-mover” advantage. Just as the Soviet Union steamed off into the uncharted waters of democratization, Yeltsin had established a strategic edge that would outbalance the penalties levied on him.3