B-H
Mikhail
Gorbachev has many merits, but one stands out for me: if not for my desire to
write a hesped (eulogy) for him, many of my other essays would have been
left forgotten in the folder of my computer, never to be shared.
The
last time I wrote a hesped for a political figure was for Vaclav Havel
and Kim Jong Il, who passed away in the same week. That was years ago. I have
no illusions now; I don’t think anyone is waiting for my essays, nor are people
particularly curious about what Matys Weiser thinks about current events. There
was a time, maybe ten years ago, when I was more active—not just on this blog,
but in various arenas. Today, I write occasionally, but many of my pieces age
unread in the folders of my computer for months or even years.
So,
when Gorbachev passed, I felt an unexpected impulse to reflect on a significant
period of my life. This led me back to my blog, where I found that there was
much more to say, even beyond what I intended to share in this essay. And I
believe those reflections are far more important than what I’m about to
present. But for now, please enjoy the following.
I
grew up in Communist Poland during the '70s and '80s.
For
the first decade of my life, the world around me seemed stagnant. At age four,
I was unaware of the political events unfolding in the Polish dockyards—events
that saw 41 people killed and over 1,000 injured during strikes against the
government. The Polish government, under Party Leader Władysław Gomułka,
collapsed as a result of those riots and strikes. This marked the end of
Gomułka’s regime and the start of Edward Gierek’s rule, which lasted for
another decade.
As
I’ve mentioned before, my political awareness began to awaken in 1976, when I
was ten years old. That year, another wave of social unrest broke out in
Poland. I was old enough to understand that the ruling party might present a
united front, but that unity was not for the benefit of the working class. In
fact, it was the opposite: the Communist elites had established themselves as
the true owners of the means of production, running a system that, as Noam
Chomsky would later call it, could be described as “State Capitalism.”
Then,
in 1980, Gierek’s government was overthrown by an unprecedented wave of
strikes, which led to the formation of the independent workers' union Solidarność
(Solidarity). This was a pivotal moment for Poland, but it was short-lived.
Just 18 months later, the Polish army was deployed to the streets. A state of
war was declared by the Communist government against its own people. The brief
moment of freedom was over, and tanks rolled through the streets and forcibly
entered the factories where workers were on strike. Many of the Solidarity
leaders were arrested, and a few managed to go into hiding, some for years.
I
was 15 at the time, and though I didn’t play a major role in these events, I
did participate in and even help organize small-scale protests. But as my life
continued, I slowly became disillusioned with politics. Eventually, my interest
in it faded altogether as my focus shifted elsewhere.
One
constant during my formative years, however, was Leonid Brezhnev in the
Kremlin.
It’s
hard for anyone who grew up in Eastern Europe under Soviet influence not to
remember his bushy eyebrows, his slow, methodical speeches, and the numerous
microphones that we believed were there to provide him with oxygen, as he could
barely stand at the podium in his later years. His age and deteriorating health
were frequent subjects of jokes among the population—humor being, after all,
one of the strongest defensive weapons for a controlled society.
Brezhnev
passed away in 1982 or perhaps was removed from power by the head of the KGB,
Yuri Andropov, who succeeded him as leader. But for the citizens of the Soviet
Union, life didn’t change much. Andropov, like Brezhnev, was aging, and his
brief tenure maintained the status quo before handing over the reins to the
even more decrepit Konstantin Chernenko.
When
Chernenko died in 1985, Mikhail Gorbachev was appointed as General Secretary of
the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and became, de facto, the leader of the
entire country. Gorbachev was seen as a reformist within the Communist Party,
but even he could not have predicted that his reforms would, in just a few
short years, bring about the end of the Soviet system.
One
of the major turning points occurred just a little over a year after
Gorbachev’s rise to power, on April 28, 1986. At precisely 21:02, a 20-second
announcement was broadcast on the Soviet TV news program Vremya: “There
has been an accident at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. One of the nuclear
reactors was damaged. The effects of the accident are being remedied.
Assistance has been provided for any affected people. An investigative
commission has been set up.”
At
the time, I was serving a two-year term as a janitor at a military hospital due
to my refusal to be drafted into the army. I worked in the pediatric clinic,
preparing a mixture of berry juice and iodine to help prevent cancer, as the
nuclear cloud from Chernobyl had affected our region too.
I
can’t say for sure what influence Tverskys (the Jewish mystics from
Chernobyl) had in this world or the next, but cracks were forming in what was
one of the most repressive empires in human history. Those cracks, which had
first opened in the Polish dockyards, were briefly sealed by force in 1981-82,
with tanks on the streets. But the Soviet system could not withstand the impact
of the Chernobyl disaster, and its collapse was inevitable.
The
Communists initially tried to downplay the true scale of the catastrophe, but
the era of Glasnost (openness) soon began. Gorbachev, a reformist,
realized that the fallout from Chernobyl—and the ongoing effects of the
event—could no longer be concealed.
Perestroika, or restructuring, was another key
term that gained prominence during this period. What was initially intended to
be little more than a set of cosmetic changes within the Soviet system, spurred
on by the aftermath of Chernobyl, Glasnost, and a fresh wave of strikes
in Poland, soon escalated into something far more significant. It ultimately
led to the total collapse of both the Soviet Union and its system of
governance.
In
the spring of 1988, workers in Poland went on strike once again. They issued
their usual demands for social democratic reforms, but this time they added a
crucial call for the release of political prisoners.
By
early summer, Polish Communists reached out to opposition leaders, with the
mediation of the Catholic Church. Later that year, the Round Table talks
were convened, and by the early spring of the following year, the negotiations
culminated in a partial return to democracy and the introduction of a
free-market economy.
This
time, neither the Polish opposition nor the Communist Party feared the
possibility of “brotherly” intervention from the Soviet Union, as had occurred
in Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968. On June 4, 1989, the first
partially free elections took place in the Communist bloc, and Solidarity
members filled all the available seats in the Polish parliament.
The
Communists, by now, had come to understand that they no longer held the
legitimacy to represent not just the Polish people but those across the Soviet
sphere of influence. This was a pivotal moment in the unraveling of the
Communist system, and it was largely due to Gorbachev’s willingness to step
back and allow nations to forge their own paths.
Gorbachev,
once a reformist within the Communist Party, had by then become the supervisor
of an empire’s dismantling—an empire that had taken tens of millions of lives
over its seven decades of existence.
The
day of the Polish elections also saw a tragic contrast: in China, the Communist
Party chose to crush protests in Tiananmen Square, using flame throwers to burn
many of the demonstrators alive. The image of the lone protester standing
before a tank in Beijing has become iconic worldwide, even in the United
States.
One
might have wondered: Would Gorbachev have followed the Chinese path of
defending the system through violence?
Historically,
Communist regimes had shown no hesitation in invading neighboring countries or
even carpet-bombing their own villages to maintain control. The starvation of
millions of Ukrainians during the 1930s was a brutal example of the
“dictatorship of the proletariat” that Marxist ideologues endorsed. But
Gorbachev chose a different path.
Instead
of using force, he allowed each country and republic to take its own path to
the future. And it wasn’t just the result of the Soviet Union’s crumbling
economy. Empires in such a state are far more dangerous to their populations.
In fact, I can’t think of a single instance in which an empire disbanded
without a significant loss of life through civil wars, wars of independence, or
the collapse of central authority.
As
a young man living under Communist rule, like all citizens of my country, I
never expected the system to end in my lifetime. I certainly never imagined
that it would collapse without the kind of widespread bloodshed typically
associated with the fall of empires. But against all odds, it ended—almost
peacefully.
Mikhail
Gorbachev is despised by many Russians today. We are witnessing an attempt to
partially restore the Russian Empire. Yet, for the nations that were once
conquered and controlled by the Tsar or the First Secretary of the Party,
Gorbachev will remain a hero.
May
Hashem bring more rulers like him, leaders who act with wisdom and compassion,
in the path toward the ultimate redemption—the coming of Mashiach Tzidkenu.