6
Saulius Grybkauskas
A ‘new direction’ in cadre policy under Leonid Brezhnev has been noticed in research on the Soviet system, where Brezhnev’s promise to entrench stability among cadres in the peripheries was accompanied by a new indigenization policy (see also Chapter 3). It foresaw the appointment of local figures as first secretaries not just in the republics but also in Russia’s obkoms (Regional Party Committees) – people who knew their region well. The policy implied going so far as to organize elections, as a kind of pre-selection of the region’s leader to make sure that the candidate had the backing of the local elites (Gorlizki and Khlevniuk, 2020, p. 255). This kind of policy determined the entrenchment of local leaders, or ‘sub-autocrats’, in the regions; circumstances that, it would appear, were conducive to the formation of a vertically organized ‘clan’ of the regional leader. A clan is defined as a personal nepotistic (neo-patrimonial) network, where the domination of one figure was clearly expressed in its internal relations, along with asymmetrical hierarchical (vertical) links: what is sometimes called a ‘power vertical’. Such a power structure would have satisfied not just the local nomenklatura but also Moscow, as it was easier for the Centre (during this time, Brezhnev’s network) to control a republic or region via one figure. While first secretaries’ networks prevailed in many Soviet republics and regions (Gorlizki and Khlevniuk, 2020), in this chapter I present an alternative Lithuanian example – a ‘consolidated network’, defined as being built on horizontal ties between groups and branches in a republic. In the ruling elite of Soviet Lithuania one can clearly see a ‘consolidated nomenklatura’ that had strong horizontal ties among its members. Rather than just a neo-patrimonial ruling structure with the clear dominance of the first secretary through his hierarchical or vertical power ties, this consolidated political circle treated its ‘ordinary’ nomenklatura members as important actors with shared rights and responsibilities even if it recognized the leading role of the first secretary. This consolidation of the Lithuanian nomenklatura was the outcome of a balance between the first secretary’s status and his nepotistic network, on the one hand, and functional or professional networks with high knowledge and the ability to solve actual problems, on the other. This was not least the case in the economic, social, and cultural spheres. The political context, Moscow’s demands, and the cultural opposition’s protests and actions made the consolidation of the nomenklatura inevitable.
With this logic in mind, it might appear that no one except an autocratic leader could defend the economic or social interests of a republic or a region, whose policy would be based on his high All-Union status, his excellent connections in Moscow, and his strong personal clan in the republic he was leading. At the same time, however, one may ask: why did a republican leader, whose entire power rested solely on his relations with the Centre in Moscow, and who was dutifully obeyed in his republic, need to foster his republic’s economic and social interests at all when that would unavoidably clash with the goals of the Union institutions, as such behaviour would only provoke the disfavour of his patron in Moscow?
In this chapter, I will focus on the question of how and through which local government networks and mechanisms Soviet Lithuania’s goal for greater political autonomy was expressed. The claim made here is that it was more favourable for autonomy with a horizontally consolidated nomenklatura rather than the clan of a vertical nepotistic leader. I will try to unravel the problematic tangle of autonomy as political, economic, and social autarky from Moscow and the dependence of the first secretary’s clan by harnessing the social network and trust approaches used by rational choice theory authors (Farrell, 2004). The central apparatus in Moscow was most concerned that a republic’s leadership should manage the confidence it had been entrusted with to ensure the system’s legitimacy: to prevent political nationalism, timely appropriate capital investments, and achieve the realization of state plan economic indicators.
This chapter also analyses the expression of anti-Soviet sentiments in society and the impact of a non-Soviet position on the Soviet government nomenklatura network in Soviet Lithuania under the leadership of the first secretary, Petras Griškevičius (1974–1987). There is a certain tradition of academic research on anti-Soviet and non-Soviet networks and the cultural opposition in Lithuania, which has resulted in a detailed analysis of the relationships between social groups and the Soviet regime (Davoliūtė, 2013; Grybkauskas, 2011; Ivanauskas, 2011, 2015; Putinaitė, 2015; Kavaliauskaitė and Ramonaitė, 2011; Ramonaitė, 2015; Streikus, 2018; Vaiseta, 2015). I will take a somewhat different approach and look at the impact of these opposition networks on Lithuania’s nomenklatura bodies. My previous research has already revealed that anti-Soviet expressions did not decrease but rather increased the autonomy of the Soviet republics’ nomenklatura from Moscow. In the presence of a certain level of protests, Moscow could not entrust their control or management to anyone else but the republic’s titular (dominant ethnicity) nomenklatura (Grybkauskas, 2018, p. 459).
In Soviet Lithuania, it is possible to observe the complex interaction between the titular nomenklatura, established intelligentsia, and non-Soviet society instead of merely entrenched conflicting standpoints between ruling local ‘collaborators’ and anti-Soviet activists. In the grey zone of negotiated space there were many junctions with shared cultural identity and common knowledge. A neo-patrimonial, nepotistic ruler would have been incapable of dealing with these social and nationality challenges and would have needed the involvement and support of talented economists, technocrats, and cultural intelligentsia. While a powerful leader often was seen as a defender of the republic’s interests and autonomy against Moscow, a consolidated nomenklatura was an even more effective way to protect the interests of a Soviet republic.
The nepotistic network
Petras Griškevičius’ appointment to the post of First Secretary of the Communist Party of Lithuania (CPL) was atypical. Firstly, details surrounding the ‘election’ took an uncharacteristically long time to unfold. A new republican leader was expected immediately after the death or dismissal of his predecessor, at an urgent Central Committee (CC) plenum. In this case, the interregnum lasted for almost a month, from the death of Antanas Sniečkus on 22 January 1974 until the CC CPL plenum on 18 February where Griškevičius was finally elected. Secondly, even though there were several, seemingly equal contenders (and Moscow’s representatives were certainly active behind the scenes especially ‘Moscow’s regent’, the CC CPL Second Secretary Valerii Kharazov), this ‘election battle’ could hardly be called a battle of the clans. The contenders, despite all wanting to secure this post for themselves, made rather composed and positive remarks about their competitors. From the opinions recorded in Kharazov’s notes made during this interregnum period (see Blue Notebook in Grybkauskas, 2015) of 55 highly ranked functionaries as to who could become first secretary, Griškevičius was obviously the favourite (Grybkauskas, 2013, p. 351). Of course, certain elements of signalling the behaviour of separate network were present, especially evident among the professional networks in construction and agriculture. Some of the leaders that Kharazov spoke to from the rural regions shared their approval of Ringaudas Songaila, the CC Secretary for Agriculture, and even doubted whether Griškevičius’ candidacy would have any support in the republic’s provinces.
What did it mean that Kharazov’s Blue Notebook recorded positive comments about Griškevičius even from his main rivals? Could it be the observance of Party ethics, or wanting to hide their own desire to become first secretary? Was it to demonstrate that you were able to appreciate your colleagues? Or maybe a kind of Party ‘asceticism’? It could be regarded as being ‘modest’, or, even as Kharazov’s own ‘contribution’ to distinguish Griškevičius’ candidacy from the rest by making his own interpretation of the others’ words. It appears that former CC CPL secretaries Vytautas Astrauskas and Lionginas Šepetys were at least partly right in saying that Kharazov was like a godfather to Griškevičius (Grybkauskas, 2013, p. 351). This emphasizes the role of the CC CPL second secretary in appointing a new first secretary, which allowed the second secretary to attain more power and influence for themselves.2
Nonetheless, even when taking into account the relative bias of Khazarov, his Blue Notebook is an excellent source when it comes to the Soviet Lithuanian nomenklatura’s opinions from those times. It is of interest because even after significant time has passed, it means we can ask the figures of the day about the clans of that era. There must have been several personal clans vying for influence amongst themselves, each seeking the appointment of their patron as the first secretary. This competition makes for an excellent object of analysis, the research would surely reveal the ‘personal links’ in the groups, favouritism, and personal loyalties typical of clans.3 Yet, looking at what Kharazov recorded in 1974, we first notice more of a corporate agreement within the nomenklatura, where the first secretary had to be Griškevičius, rather than any engagement in a battle between separate groups or clans. From the 55 functionaries who were questioned, twelve said Griškevičius had to be the top candidate, and 29 said he could be a possible candidate (among others).
When one of the clan leaders became first secretary, representatives of his clan expected to be promoted and the members of competing clans would expect to face persecution. Yet, in this case we see that the absolute majority backed Griškevičius, and he did not have any serious competitors. It is sometimes said, however, that he disposed of one of his former opponents, Algirdas Ferensas, in his own way. The latter’s delayed appointment from his influential post as CC CPL Secretary for Industry and Construction to the insignificant position of Chairman of the Lithuanian SSR Board of Trade Unions does raise questions. Griškevičius became First Secretary already in the beginning of 1974, while Ferensas was dismissed as secretary only in 1977. There is nothing to suggest that Ferensas had his own personal network or posed any real threat to Griškevičius. As we can see from one complaint’s file of CC CPSU apparatus that included serious compromise’s information against Ferensas personally, Griškevičius was not very enthusiastic in using this kind of information regarding Ferensas, at least in 1975 when this file appeared. Nikolai Dybenko, the head of Beylorusia and Baltic republics’ sector of CC CPSU, sent a zapiska (a note) to the leadership of CC CPSU about this, presenting Griškevičius’ opinion in a very laconic. According to the zapiska, Griškevičius only stated that ‘Ferensas sometimes is harsh in behaviour with his subordinates’. Griškevičius met and talked about issues of this complaint with Ferensas making possible to CC CPSU apparatus to stop further party investigation.4 It is obvious that if Griškevičius were willing to get rid of Ferensas as rival, he would take an opportunity to attack Ferensas and use this file and information against Ferensas. The likely reasons for Ferensas’ dismissal were his great expectation of receiving the first secretary’s chair in 1974, and the subsequent disappointment that followed, which had an impact on the quality of his work – at least this is what Astrauskas believes.5 When we look at the opinions recorded in Kharazov’s notebook for and against, we see that Ferensas had the most votes against him.
Griškevičius was known for looking after his ‘own crowd’, and for the attention he gave them. The poet Paulius Širvys, who led a life that was not quite Soviet, was in favour of the government. That Širvys, like Griškevičius, came from Rokiškis was viewed as an advantage: ‘Griškevičius was from the Rokiškis region as well. This fact helped me feel more secure. […] Griškevičius had greater trust in me and my leadership of the Lithuanian Literature Department at Vilnius University’ (Kmita, 2015).
Of particular note was the appointment of Aloyzas, Griškevičius’ son, as a deputy to the Lithuanian SSR minister of health in 1981, which ‘all of Vilnius’ was talking about (he was promoted to first deputy minister in 1984).6 The appointment of his son was without question the most obvious but not the only case of nepotism. Others who were originally from the same region as Griškevičius also enjoyed his preferential treatment: Lithuanian SSR Council of Ministers Deputy Chairman Vilius Kazanavičius, was also from the same village, Kriaunai, in the Rokiškis district. The Procurator, and later, the republic’s Chairman of the People’s Control Committee and member of the CC CPL Bureau, Alfonsas Kairelis, also originated from the same region. He had been a Soviet partisan during the Nazi occupation and was part of the same Žemaitė troop as Griškevičius. Griškevičius relied on those loyal to him and would not punish them when there was a misunderstanding, or a mistake had been made. According to Baltrūnas, he enjoyed Griškevičius’ good graces because of his ability to organize the Communist Youth organization effectively. Griškevičius also knew Baltrūnas’ father. Even before he became the leader, Griškevičius was a close friend of the poet Eduardas Mieželaitis (the interview material collected as part of this research allows us to link individuals to the nepotism network).
Judging by the characterizations of Griškevičius given by former political figures in interviews with the author, I notice that the first secretary was a family-orientated man who took the opinions of his wife Sofija into consideration and was concerned about the success of his children and grandchildren. The Griškevičius family rarely allowed guests into their family circle. The Rector of Vilnius University, Jonas Kubilius, took advantage of the first secretary’s especially favourable attitude towards him. According to Astrauskas, who was responsible for cadre matters in the CC CPL, Griškevičius became angry when Astrauskas mentioned how rectors of other institutions would receive the ‘honour’ of becoming Deputies of the USSR Supreme Soviet or the like.7
The consolidated nomenklatura network
How were close horizontal links between representatives of the nomenklatura in Soviet Lithuania possible if the Soviet leadership was noted for such a high level of centralism? To answer this question, we shall discuss and identify important moments in Soviet governance, in terms of Soviet Lithuania’s status in the All-Union context and the extent of anti-Soviet expression in the republic. An analysis of the tensions in the leadership and within the collective governance prompts the use of the concept of trust discussed by social scientists. Recently, theoreticians highlighted the importance of freedom and choice in earning trust and its incompatibility with violence, however, today research points to the existence of trust in asymmetrical power links. There are, however, some important conditions for this – the difference in power between actors cannot be too extreme. When explaining this borderline trust situation, Farrell (2004, p. 86) formulates this as follows: ‘When I have many attractive alternatives to my relationship with you, and I know that you have very few, I may be more inclined to take advantage of you in some circumstances’. To translate this statement into the language of the Soviet nomenklatura, we may ask: ‘Being the first secretary and having many opportunities to communicate with other functionaries at the All-Union and republic levels, and knowing that you have nowhere near as many opportunities to do the same, why should I value and nurture our mutual social links?’
The answer to this question can rest on several arguments. One is the relatively low status of the first secretary of the LSSR in the Soviet Union as a whole in comparison to leaders of some other republics. Unlike the long-standing First Secretary of Uzbekistan, Sharof Rashidov (see Chapter 4), or Kazakhstan’s Dinmukhamed Konayev, Eduard Shevardnadze in Georgia, Heydar Aliyev in Azerbaijan, or even Arvīds Pelše from neighbouring Latvia, neither Sniečkus nor Griškevičius were members or candidates of the CC CPSU Politburo in Moscow, merely ordinary CC CPSU members.
Kharazov’s characterization of Griškevičius compiled back in 1974 gave a rather accurate summary of the nomenklatura’s opinions regarding his candidacy. Even though a majority was more or less in favour of Griškevičius, they also shared their opinions regarding his laggardness. This was probably the only negative characteristic those in his circle noticed. It was outweighed, however, by the positive qualities mentioned, including the following: ‘In those fields where he feels less competent, he consults with his colleagues’. Even though laggardness and trust in his colleagues are completely opposite assessments, in a certain way they strengthened one another and were both very useful in creating networks. Being a laggard, he was inclined to pass initiative over to specialists in their fields, which was beneficial to his leadership. It was also beneficial to the functionality of the nomenklatura and its ability to ensure excellent work in given fields, whether this was in agriculture under Songaila and later Astrauskas, or in industry, which was under the leadership of the skilled industrialist Brazauskas (or Šepetys who was known for his erudition among ideologues from the other republics).
The motivation to siphon out nationalism forced Griškevičius and those in his circle to search for skilled technocrats and shrewd cultural figures. Griškevičius formed his network under the conditions of survival: he could not do without people like Šepetys, Brazauskas, and the astute finance minister Romualdas Sikorskis. According to Astrauskas, the latter was a good financial specialist but did not have any personal links with Griškevičius.8
Thus, Griškevičius was in reality not free to choose whom he wanted or liked. He could not, for example, form his team solely of people who grew up in Rokiškis, or were his old partisan friends. As Vladas Butėnas, a Deputy Head of the Department for Organizational and Party Work in the CC CPL, mentions in his memoirs, there had to be visible results in agriculture and industry. One thing was knowing the right people, but actually getting results was quite another, and the intelligentsia had to be controlled (Butėnas, 2003, p. 104).
Former Deputy Chairman of the LSSR Council of Ministers Vilius Kazanavičius (2005, p. 107) was surprised by Griškevičius’ casual approach when receiving highly ranked guests from Moscow. The Lithuanian leaders of various fields were given the responsibility of communicating with them accordingly. Brazauskas, Kazanavičius, and others would meet and accompany USSR ministers while Griškevičius would only sometimes have dinner with a guest to the republic. This kind of behaviour might have surprised highly ranked functionaries from Moscow who were used to the attention they were given by the first secretaries in other republics. Yet, this could have also ‘saved’ the opportunity to meet at a high level later: Griškevičius held on to the opportunity to contact and meet with All-Union functionaries if the need arose. The latter would then have viewed such offers as concerning matters of great importance. In addition, Griškevičius’ laggard approach towards communicating with the Centre’s representatives was useful to his subordinates, who felt valuable in having such direct relations with the Centre’s functionaries, who in turn viewed them as precisely the right people to contact when solving problems in a specific field.
Even when it was appointing highly ranked leaders, the CC CPL took into account their reputation in society. According to Šepetys, he was appointed as the CC CPL Secretary for Ideology in 1976 because his candidacy was approved among the cultural layers of society.9 In his opinion, the esteem and support of Griškevičius’ poet friend Mieželaitis was important for Šepetys’ election. According to Astrauskas, Griškevičius had a favourable opinion of Šepetys, and ‘was guided by him in matters of culture and art as he was more than adequately “informed” in this field’.10 The former CC CPL Department Head Justas V. Paleckis also remembers the great influence Šepetys had on Griškevičius.11
The activities of the CC CPL Secretary for Industry, Brazauskas, were viewed favourably by the ‘investment appropriation community’. Enterprising raikom (District Party Committee) leaders would coordinate economic expansion matters directly with Brazauskas. Some of them even maintained their authority in the regions during the national revival period or performed a certain role in helping Brazauskas become established as a national leader. From the start of his appointment in 1986, the First Secretary of the Širvintai raikom, Vladimir Korniyenka, took the initiative to revitalize the economy in the stagnating district, communicating directly with Brazauskas on all related matters. Later, when he was asked by Brazauskas, Korniyenka not only participated in and made a speech at the first Sąjūdis (Lithuanian Popular Front) Congress in 1988 but also became a member of the CC CPL. He also joined Brazauskas on his journey to meet with Mikhail Gorbachev and Aleksandr Yakovlev in Moscow before the CPL separated from the CPSU (in December 1989). Functionalism during this time allowed the Lithuanian nomenklatura to develop economic independence programmes and see to the abolishment of the institution of the second secretary.
Entrusting specialists to coordinate in specific fields meant that not only the first secretary but other functionaries also had excellent connections with leaders from the economic and ideological fields both in the Centre and in other republics, which they exploited as important political capital in local networks, limiting the first secretary’s power to punish or introduce various sanctions. The CC CPL Secretary for Ideology, Šepetys, was a modern art specialist who wrote books on this topic. He won the approval of the USSR Ministry of Culture including Yekaterina Furtseva both for his abilities in administrating the fields of education and culture in the republic and for his work as an art researcher. Brazauskas maintained excellent links with the leaders of the USSR State Planning Committee (Gosplan) from his days as First Deputy Chairman of the LSSR Gosplan (1967–1977), and once he started working as the CC CPL Secretary for the Economy he also developed good connections within the CC CPSU apparatus.
Conversely, there are examples from other Soviet republics demonstrating how before his visit to Moscow a republican functionary would ask for permission and coordinated questions in detail with the republic’s first secretary, for example, with Shevardnadze in Georgia.12 These kinds of consultations were organized not to improve the effectiveness of business trip but rather because of the control the first secretary exerted over his subordinates.
Another factor in the horizontal personal network was the second secretary. Comparing an ‘ordinary’ nomenklatura figure with the first secretary, the second secretary was sent from Moscow and would prove to be just as invaluable to the first secretary as having contacts in Moscow or having friends and colleagues at the local level. This statement regarding the influence of the second secretary is more analytical in nature, going beyond any practical actions or links between figures at the time, and the way that we see them now. The statement rests on the condition that in the asymmetrical power links that existed within the nomenklatura, the mere existence of the second secretary modified the situation with respect to trust. If there was no ‘outsider’ from Moscow, an ordinary nomenklatura figure would have only one option: to totally obey the first secretary. Of course, this did not mean that the second secretary’s presence offered an equal alternative: to become an ‘open’ client of the second secretary was dangerous. Nonetheless, in terms of seeking long-term political goals, albeit temporary, the presence of an under-achieving second secretary would hold back the first secretary from expressing his own will, even in terms of his own clients from the nomenklatura. If he did overstep his boundaries, the first secretary could find himself accused of not ensuring collective leadership. The leader must have intuitively sensed this limit, and this allowed him to balance relations within the titular nomenklatura. It sufficed for the first secretary to know that a member of the nomenklatura who felt harmed or demeaned by him could seek the backing of the second secretary, and that would be enough to restrict the first’s willpower, out of respect and appreciation for his subordinates. This minimized the first secretary’s choices at the expense of other members of the nomenklatura. The second secretary’s presence was beneficial to ‘ordinary’ members of the nomenklatura, as he boosted the weight these members carried in relation to the republic’s first secretary. So, even if there was no officially promoted collective leadership in the Soviet republics, then the second secretary’s existence brought this type of leadership closer to the collective type.
The functions of the second secretary discussed here and the impact of functionalism on nomenklatura trust networks allow us to, among other things, highlight the differences between clan-orientated behaviour and consolidation. Clan behaviour can be identified as the absolute governance of the first secretary and even his will as regards other members of the nomenklatura. Consolidation, on the other hand, meant cooperation even under the conditions of asymmetrical links. Usually, it is said that clan behaviour pointed to the existence of a strong personal network, much like consolidation incidentally – a concentration around the first secretary. The quality of the two types of networks, however, differs. In the case of the clan, it is sufficient to dismiss the leader in order to destroy the network. In the case of consolidation, the nomenklatura was noted for its high sense of self-esteem, and ability to nurture and develop horizontal links. It was precisely this consolidation based on horizontal links, which was expressed under Sniečkus and Griškevičius.
The technocratic network
The example of the technocrats represents an excellent illustration of the functional network, which had a tense relationship with the personal clan of the first secretary. Industrial and public construction was one of the most important branches of the Lithuanian economy. The electronics, machine-building, food, and construction materials industry as well as the construction industry represented the industrial achievements of Soviet Lithuania and created the image across the USSR of adept production organizers and good construction workers in Lithuania. Lithuanian builders were in particular demand; sometimes Lithuania’s leaders struggled to explain why they could not send one of their brigades to one or another republic to teach new construction methods to the builders from another brotherly nation. Much as in other fields, there was also some interaction between professional networks and a paternalistic clan. In Lithuania at this time, both the industrial and construction sectors were directly subordinate to one CC CPL secretary. The industrialists’ and construction workers’ network became established among other leaders’ networks in the republic when Juozas Maniušis from the road construction sector became the CC CPL Secretary for Industry and Construction, and the Chairman of the LSSR Council of Ministers from 1967. When he faced opposition from the Lithuanian nomenklatura in 1974 and did not become first secretary, Maniušis nonetheless acknowledged Griškevičius’ seniority in the leadership of the republic, even though their relations and cooperation were never close. They hunted in different hunting clubs, which was not the case in neighbouring Latvia. There is no doubt that the reason why Maniušis held on to his post for a relatively long time was not just his professional experience but also the complex puzzle of nomenklatura networks that did not allow the wily Griškevičius, who was experienced in cadre politics, to easily dominate while in government. Maniušis got along very well with Second Secretary Kharazov, where both men formed a kind of political tandem regarding the Lithuanian nomenklatura.
Maniušis received more important political support from his excellent contacts in the Centre. Maniušis had close ties with the CC CPSU Cadres Secretary Ivan Kapitonov and the First Deputy Chairman of the USSR Council of Ministers, the Belarusian Kiril Mazurov. Maniušis’ political influence was severely weakened when Mazurov was dismissed from his post in 1978, and when Kharazov was removed from Lithuania to a less important post in Moscow. The newly arrived Second Secretary, Nikolai Dybenko, who gained experience as an industrialist working as the Novosibirsk gorkom (City Party Committee) First Secretary, got along well with Griškevičius and did not work with Maniušis. In 1980, Dybenko even initiated a Party investigation into Maniušis’ ‘lack of reserve’ in releasing his memoirs Zhizn’ v trude (Life in Work). Maniušis was forced to leave the government earlier than he had intended.13
The constellation of networks was indeed complicated. Thus, in the Soviet Lithuanian fields of industry and construction, we can distinguish several actively functional networks. The tandem of Council of Ministers Chairman Maniušis and Second Secretary Kharazov, who were most dependent on their contacts in Moscow, was replaced at the end of the 1980s by another network consisting of the Vilnius gorkom first secretary and from 1985, Council of Ministers Chairman Sakalauskas, his Deputy Chairman, Vilius Kazanavičius, and Second Secretary Dybenko. Unlike its predecessor, the Maniušis-Kharazov duo, this later clan resembled First Secretary Griškevičius’ clan, which disciplined the industrialists’ and construction professionals’ functional network clan, headed by CC CPL Secretary Brazauskas. In the construction sector, we notice not only competition between Griškevičius’ nepotistic and professional networks but also different programme guidelines for types of construction, which were expressed primarily in the competition between prefabricated large concrete panels and monolithic reinforced concrete blocks.
Next, I will provide some more detailed insights into the competition and power positioning that went on during these years. Soviet Lithuania’s first secretaries – Sniečkus, Griškevičius, and especially Songaila – positioned themselves as leaders who cared about the rural areas in Lithuania and agrarian matters. Though it appeared that they entrusted industry professionals with matters of the industrial sector, the development of industrialization only encouraged industrialists’ ambitions, and, therefore, also the necessity of first secretaries to control the functional goals of manufacturers. That the LSSR Minister of Construction, Romualdas Sakalauskas, became the first deputy to the USSR construction minister demonstrated the high level of recognition the republic’s construction sector had in the Union. He introduced a number of innovations into the management of this branch, such as operative planning of construction.14 Though later on, due to conflicts with the irascible USSR minister Genadii Karavaev, when Sakalauskas said he wanted to return to Lithuania, Griškevičius could not find a suitable post for him. Sakalauskas could only be satisfied when a new position emerged in the republic’s government in 1980, as the Council of Ministers deputy chairman for construction. Yet, Griškevičius’ client, Kazanavičius, was appointed to that position rather than Sakalauskas. Sakalauskas received the position of Chairman of the Committee for Construction instead, which was incomparable to either the posts of LSSR Council of Ministers deputy chairmanship or Minister of Construction (Ivanauskas, 2007).
The competition between Griškevičius’ nepotistic network and the technocrat’s functional network allowed the CC CPL first secretary to balance his environment, and to maintain and acquire greater authority, while avoiding the functional construction sector network’s dictate. Hence, he was able to discipline the ambitious Brazauskas, who was inclined to act independently.15 By juxtaposing Brazauskas’ construction establishment against the duo of his fellow Rokiškis-born Kazanavičius and Second Secretary Dybenko, Griškevičius achieved stronger control over this important economic branch. Having harnessed this ‘non-specialist’ strategy, Griškevičius cleverly handled the economic and cultural fields in the republic. This stopped the deeper segmentation of the nomenklatura and allowed Griškevičius to adopt the role of main arbiter.
Algirdas Brazauskas, the first President of Lithuania (1993–1998), started his career in the Soviet era as one of the most important representatives of the technocrats’ network. Between 1967 and 1977 he worked as the First Deputy Chairman responsible for large-scale construction in the LSSR Gosplan, later becoming CC CPL Secretary for Industry and Construction (1977–1988). Brazauskas sought changes in leading cadres in favour of his technocratic network. According to Kazanavičius, Brazauskas wanted to see his good friend Sakalauskas in the Council of Ministers deputy chairman’s seat instead of him. As Sakalauskas (2003, p. 417) recalled, while he was still working in Moscow, he spoke informally with Griškevičius who had arrived in Moscow and explained how ‘Brazauskas recommended my [Sakalauskas’] appointment to the new deputy chairman’s post, yet he [Griškevičius] did not approve, saying that I was too familiar with construction matters and would therefore subjectively help builders’. Thus, Griškevičius did not satisfy Brazauskas’ request to place his good friend Sakalauskas in this post, instead appointing someone whom he trusted personally.
The problems with appropriating investments were what led to the necessity of creating the position of deputy chairman for construction within the Council of Ministers. The LSSR was probably the only case,16 however, where Kazanavičius, who had been the Executive Committee Chairman in Šiauliai and was only indirectly associated with construction, was appointed as the responsible Council of Ministers deputy chairman. He was a astute leader in this city and introduced a number of innovations in Šiauliai, one of which was the first pedestrian boulevard in a Lithuanian city. In this regard, even Kaunas with its famous Freedom Avenue was behind Šiauliai.
The offer Kazanavičius received to take up this kind of post led to an unexpected and successful career. He would have agreed to take a lower position, say, that of the chairman of the committee for construction, and even that would have been an important step up the ladder. Some years before, the Chairman of the Kaunas Executive Committee (a city more important than Kazanavičius’ Šiauliai), Juozas Šėrys, was appointed as LSSR Minister of Utilities in 1971, and only later, in 1984, did he become the Deputy Chairman of the LSSR Council of Ministers.
An important biographical detail concerning Kazanavičius is that he was originally from the village of Kriaunai, like Griškevičius, while his best childhood friend was the latter’s younger brother, Albinas. Even though, as Kazanavičius claims, he never exploited his acquaintance with Griškevičius, the possibility of being able to appeal to the first secretary and that the construction sector was aware of this link, gave him power and trust. The new Council of Ministers’ deputy chairman truly had exclusive access to Griškevičius. In his memoirs, Kazanavičius described a conversation he had with Griškevičius: ‘One day, out fishing, when we had had a drink, he revealed, slightly annoyed: “You know, Vilius, it’s not so simple for me either. There are those who are watching me closely, even here in Lithuania… And if something’s not right, they report back to Moscow”’ (Kazanavičius, 2005, p. 106). It is unlikely that Griškevičius, being known as someone who was quite introverted and who had difficulty communicating with others, as his contemporaries recall, would have opened up like this in the company of any other leaders.
The communicative Kazanavičius managed to get along easily in the Council of Ministers and the construction organizations he supervised, and valued Brazauskas’ professionalism. His social capital in Brazauskas’ circle of construction sector figures could not, however, compare to the latter’s old acquaintances in this sector, yet Kazanavičius got into arguments with Brazauskas. One, over the construction of a new stadium in Vilnius, even reached the CC CPL Bureau.17 Kazanavičius, who handled this matter, was in favour of the new stadium’s construction, while Brazauskas was in favour of reconstructing the old Žalgiris stadium (Kazanavičius, 2005, p. 123). When the leadership backed the construction of a new stadium, Brazauskas reproached Kazanavičius: ‘why didn’t you support me, Vilius?’18
Moreover, Brazauskas was not allowed near the Klaipėda-Mukran (Soviet Lithuania-East Germany) sea ferry project, which was very important to the leadership. From the Party side, the second secretary Dybenko himself took on management of the project, who, regardless of his long service in Party organs in Siberia and in the CC CPSU apparatus, had a background in engineering and work experience in industrial enterprises. This condition, and Soviet universalism, which ensured All-Union cooperation through the unification and modernization of industrial production, determined the second secretary’s interference in industrial matters in the republic no less than in ideological ones. Kazanavičius went from being the appointed figure for this project in the LSSR Council of Ministers to working with the project’s headquarters led by Dybenko, thereby attaining another ‘line of communication’ with the CC CPL leadership and bypassing his direct Party superior, Brazauskas (Kazanavičius, 2005, p. 110).
Interestingly, when speaking about the hierarchy that existed at the time during an interview, Kazanavičius named Brazauskas as his immediate superior, even though on the institutional level, his boss was the Chairman of the Council of Ministers – first, Songaila, and from 1983, Vytautas Sakalauskas. In 1987, after the sudden death of Griškevičius, when functionaries from Moscow came to hear the nomenklatura’s opinions about a new first secretary, Kazanavičius did not back Brazauskas’ candidacy but that of Council of Ministers Chairman Sakalauskas (Kazanavičius, 2005, p. 110). Today it is difficult to determine which of the CC CPL secretaries were most frequently visited by the Council of Ministers deputy chairmen – no records could be found in the CC CPL receptionists’ registers of guests. Naturally, having joint concerns in the organization of construction work meant that Kazanavičius had to have meetings with Brazauskas. In the Council of Ministers reception registration book, however, there is an entry where Kazanavičius ‘went to see Comrade Dybenko’19. According to Kazanavičius, he was acquainted with Dybenko from his time working in Šiauliai, and does not doubt that this ‘local agent’ from Moscow also backed his promotion to the post of Council of Ministers deputy chairman. So, the positions and possibilities Kazanavičius (a personal client of first secretary Griškevičius) had to balance out the industrialists’ and construction sector’s network, directed by Brazauskas, were increased by the role Dybenko played. This ‘governor-general’ got along well with Griškevičius and was favourable towards Kazanavičius and especially to Vytautas Sakalauskas. The latter did not interfere in the internal affairs of the construction sector and was amicable to both Brazauskas and Kazanavičius. Thus, knowing that Dybenko approved of Sakalauskas, (Butėnas, 2003, p. 52) we find there was a strong personal network, something like an alternative group that exerted major influence on the industrialist-construction sector’s functional clan.
In these networks, competition was expressed in industry and construction not only when it came to cadres but also in the programmes they followed. Competition between the Chairman of the Committee for Construction, Romualdas Sakalauskas, who was probably the closest to Brazauskas, and Kazanavičius became apparent in terms of their approach to construction expansion technologies. Sakalauskas was a proponent of the prevailing prefabricated large concrete panel apartment building construction method, whereas Kazanavičius was in favour of the monolithic reinforced concrete construction method. As Sakalauskas recalls, it was at Kazanavičius’ initiative that an LSSR Council of Ministers resolution was passed that foresaw construction of 300,000 m2, while Sakalauskas was more in favour of a much smaller scale project of only 110,000 m2 of housing for the same period. As he says, these disagreements ‘sharpened my business relations with Kazanavičius’ (Sakalauskas, 2003, p. 431). Not just CC CPL Secretary Brazauskas was sceptical towards the monolithic reinforced concrete method of construction but also his brother Gerardas who was the deputy chairman in one of the most important construction conglomerates, comparable in its size to a ministry – the Republic Construction Organization.
The balance between professional and nepotistic networks and the collision of Lithuanian particularism
Above, we have discussed Griškevičius’ personal network, and the influence of the second secretary and the technocrats’ network on his powers. Now, we can return to the question of localism/particularism within the nomenklatura: was the clan behaviour of the nomenklatura directly proportional to the nomenklatura’s autonomy in the republic, the greater push for autarky in the economy, or perhaps even the formation of national communism? If the answer is yes, then how should we understand and assess the role of professional networks that were in a certain state of tension with Griškevičius’ personal clan?
The historian Vilius Ivanauskas correctly grasped the importance of professional identity for the technocrats, yet he discussed it in relation to the Soviet system rather than in terms of autarky (Ivanauskas, 2011). He only identified the actions of the Lithuanian Party bureaucracy with the system, and, therefore, viewed any distancing on behalf of the technocrats from Party control only as a distancing ‘from the system’. Following this logic, the greater the degree of autarky, the greater the extent of the system at play.20 Yet, this discussion about technocrats and partocrats should be transferred to another field, namely, the issue of localism/universalism.
The highest LSSR nomenklatura – both partocrats, government, and planning committee leaders – looked suspiciously upon the authority and status of professionals and specialists, and the increase in their contact with Moscow. Griškevičius had every right to be critical of the former Minister of Construction Romualdas Sakalauskas because the greater the attention given to construction from the All-Union level, the more it aroused the dissatisfaction of the Lithuanian nomenklatura. Sakalauskas himself acknowledged that this did lead to tension and misunderstandings.
Conversely, there were the professional networks. Brazauskas’ situation and activities provided some insights into the significance of belonging to a professional network, and how tensions emerged between All-Union universalism and particularism at the republic level. Former Party figures recall not just Brazauskas’ particular independence but also his good contacts in Moscow. The CC CPL secretary for industry and construction was not always ready to submit to the first secretary’s will and would on occasion demonstrate his own ambitions.
Why did Griškevičius tolerate Brazauskas and retain him as a leader? Griškevičius valued Brazauskas’ professional and management skills. Astrauskas recalls how during one meeting Griškevičius praised Brazauskas for being the only one in the leadership with such an excellent knowledge of his field. Kazanavičius, who did not always get along with Brazauskas, also recognized his professionalism. We can gather from the recollections of the leaders from that time that the relationship between Griškevičius and Brazauskas was not one of complete trust from the first secretary and obedience from the latter. During one of their conflicts in the middle of the 1980s, Brazauskas utilized on his good contacts with Valentin Nikiforov, the influential Deputy Chairman of the CC CPSU Department of Organizational-Party Work.21 Brazauskas also received support from within the local nomenklatura with the backing of CC CPL secretaries Šepetys and Astrauskas. Astrauskas recalled an unexpected suggestion from Griškevičius to transfer Brazauskas from the CC CPL to the Council of Ministers in 1983:
Brazauskas talked to Šepetys and me. I expressed this idea: ‘society will see this as a demotion, even though there are more opportunities to work and manage affairs, and in terms of wellbeing, you would be better off there, in the Council of Ministers, than here’. But back then, people were used to the fact that the CC was the peak. If you left the CC for some other position, it meant something was not right. So, he refused.22
Brazauskas avoided this kind of ‘exile’ thanks to his support in Moscow and Lithuania. His broader influence was determined by his connections with representatives of his profession, which opened up the chance for him to become a political figure on both the republic and All-Union levels. Among the Party bureaucrats, Brazauskas was the only one who could have had greater ambitions to ‘migrate’ to central institutions in Moscow, as the opportunities for other CC CPL secretaries and high ranking leaders were ‘enclosed’ and limited to the republic. As an ideologue, for example, Šepetys was not so interesting that the Centre would want to incorporate him into the CC CPSU, where any position higher than an instructor was almost exclusively held by Eastern Slavic functionaries, and mostly by Russians. Nor could the republic’s agricultural sector leaders who handled their affairs quite well, lay any great claims to such promotions. Understanding the hierarchical structures of the day, a CC CPL secretary could have been interested in the position of a CC CPSU department head or at least a deputy, and if we consider the Council of Ministers, then only the position of a USSR minister, or perhaps his first deputy. Any other proposals would have looked like a demotion. So, Brazauskas was the only one of the republic’s leaders to have such prospects. According to Brazauskas himself, while he was still working in the LSSR Gosplan, both the USSR Minister of Energy Petr Neporozhnyi and USSR Gosplan Chairman Nikolai Baibakov offered Brazauskas their deputy positions, respectively. Perhaps these opportunities explain why Brazauskas was the most ‘edgy’ of all the CC secretaries when it came to dealing with Griškevičius – due to his stronger negotiating position and also in terms of trust relations with Griškevičius.
We should return at this point to the nomenklatura consolidation thesis, which is based on the trust approach in rational choice theory. An ‘ordinary nomenklatura’ figure’s high-trust status, his skills, and personal links with the Centre’s functionaries in Moscow are what determined his strong position in relation to the first secretary. Professionalism, functionalism, and opportunities for a career at the All-Union level were utilized not just for the implementation of All-Union universalist programmes in the republic but more to entrench his own status in internal relations in the republic. Therefore, the self-confidence exhibited by one such ‘ordinary member of the nomenklatura’ as Brazauskas and his sense of status strengthened horizontal links in the republic’s leadership, its consolidation, and also, the representation of the republic’s interests within the scope of the nomenklatura.
The coexistence of Griškevičius’ personal clan and professional networks in separate segments of the nomenklatura set down boundaries within which negotiations were constantly underway. Relations within the nomenklatura were balanced out in this way. On the one hand, Griškevičius’ personal network stopped the segmentation of professional clans, halting their gravitation towards purely branch-limited interests. On the other hand, the existence of professional networks did not allow Griškevičius’ nepotism-driven clan to form and grow stronger. The result of this interaction was a consolidated and functional nomenklatura.
So, did the clan behaviour of the nomenklatura, the first secretary’s autocracy and domination in the republic really signify the republic’s greater autarchy in terms of the Centre? The entrenchment of the first secretary’s personal clan did not mean that the republic’s economic and social interests would be represented any better. Clan behaviour in effect led to the first secretary’s greater dependence on his patron in Moscow – whether it was the General Secretary or another intercessor, or a member of the CC CPSU Politburo. A consolidated nomenklatura network where there were more horizontal links than in a clan could represent local interests just as well as a clan, especially since this kind of nomenklatura was more effective, could react better to the situation ‘below’, and was also less dependent on the first secretary’s involvement in All-Union leadership institutions. That a republic’s leader was dependent on the highest CC CPSU organs was not beneficial and might even be dangerous to the republic for two reasons. First, it was easier for Moscow to decide whether to clear out the whole nomenklatura in a republic as power lay in the first secretary’s hands. He alone would need to be dismissed in order to change the whole clan. Knowing this, the first secretary would try even harder to please his patron and other functionaries in Moscow. Second, the co-opting of a republic’s leader into the highest central institutions also came at a cost. These kinds of republics were more exposed to the empire’s universal goals, the investment interests of All-Union ministries and migration from other republics. Latvia’s First Secretary, Pelše, was appointed as Chairman of the CC CPSU Party Control Committee and a member of the CC CPSU Politburo in 1966. The republic had its price to pay, however, for these posts: it ‘opened up’ to investments from the Centre, for example, to its heavy industry but then also became dependent on labour immigration from the other republics.
The complex relationship between cultural opposition and the nomenklatura
How were relations between the Lithuanian nomenklatura networks and society, that is the cultural elites? At the plenum held on 18 February 1974, during his inauguration speech, Griškevičius mentioned the serious manifestations of nationalism in Lithuanian society, which the CC CPSU secretaries and Moscow apparatus staff had also allegedly noticed, and who Griškevičius had to visit before being confirmed as first secretary. Despite not being very widespread at this point, dissident activity in Lithuania has been researched in considerable detail, as mentioned in the introduction. What is less known, yet no less significant, are the activities of the so-called ‘non-Soviet society’, which researchers have been drawing attention to in recent years. Besides the ‘open’ nationalist and anti-Soviet activity recorded by the KGB, there were also strong non-Soviet networks in the republic. During the Stalin years, and later, under Khrushchev and Brezhnev, most of the participants in these networks did not suffer repression but they did experience persecution and aroused the government’s suspicion. That resulted in losing their positions as lecturers at Vilnius University (for example, Professor Meilė Lukšienė, Dr. Vanda Zaborskaitė, etc.) or facing ideological attacks and restrictions with respect to having their texts published (for example, the philosophers’ initiative to publish the magazine Problemos). The actions of the cultural opposition did not demonstrate a clear goal to oppose or even overthrow the order and recapture their lost independence but the participants did not identify themselves with the system either.
According to Ramonaitė (2015, p. 14), ‘not all of the social networks that naturally appeared from below constitute a non-Soviet society [which was a] systemic and non-systemic “invisible society” in the late Soviet period’. Ramonaitė and her collaborators reveal how non-Soviet social networks not only accumulated links during meetings of their own, trusted people, but in public rallies as well. One such example was the so-called ‘garage story’ of 1977–1978 on Vokiečių Street in Vilnius. This collective movement played a rather significant role in concentrating informal links. Using the networks of architects and the cultural opposition, signatures were collected in a protest against the construction of garages in Vilnius’ Old Town, which threatened to disturb the old city’s heritage, especially the former city merchants’ guild cellars that remained in the old cultural layer under the ground level existing at that time. Some authors attribute the source of the Lithuanian National Front (Sąjūdis) to this particular protest (Klumbys, 2015, p. 219).
It does not go very far, however, in revealing the political and social dynamic in the Lithuanian society at the time. Closed communities of people discussing certain topics within their own narrow circle had little impact on the overall situation in Lithuania back then. It is probably true that these were acquaintances, or a certain school of thought, which proved to be beneficial as the regime became freer and the Popular Front was forming. The focus when it comes to this topic, however, is somewhat different in this chapter: to reveal how the existence of cultural opposition affected the situation in Lithuania, which has traditionally been termed as ‘stagnation’. Thus, I am taking a somewhat different look at the invisible society networks, not just as a kind of incubator for the future civil society that emerged towards the end of Gorbachev’s leadership, but also as an important factor affecting the nomenklatura networks and political decisions even under Brezhnev.
In the view of Ramonaitė and other scholars, who have examined the above-mentioned networks, there was an obvious divide between this ‘invisible society’ and the government’s ideological initiatives. In a study released in 2011 (Kavaliauskaitė and Ramonaitė, 2011), it was found that the current civil society, which arose from Sąjūdis, was formed on the foundations of a non-Soviet society. Calling it a ‘natural society’, the author claims that it was an ‘informal union, not directed by the regime, but a “grassroots” community, which naturally formed social networks hidden from the eyes of the regime’ (Ramonaitė, 2015, p. 14). In another book released in 2015 by the same researcher and her co-authors, the Soviet-non-Soviet divide is shown to be even firmer.
The material which this chapter builds on reveals, however, a much closer cooperation between the invisible society and the government than has previously been proposed by those who advocate the importance of the divide between the invisible society networks and government. It would appear that this divide, by its mere existence, cannot deny the effect of cultural opposition on nomenklatura networks, as it might have been more of an expression of the government’s reaction to and exploitation of nationalism and the invisible society, rather than actual cooperation (at least not obvious cooperation, which would have been dangerous for the local government). Only those activities of the cultural opposition were useful to the Lithuanian nomenklatura that testified to society’s degree of activity, even obvious acts of protest, but that would not make Moscow suspect the republic’s government had contributed to them in any way.
What was also important was the course that these protests followed, and the ability of the Lithuanian nomenklatura to regulate them and to demonstrate to Moscow that it would be worthwhile to keep the local government in place, rather than changing it or entrusting the governance of the republic to other institutions. Elsewhere, I have shown that mass events, like the All Souls’ Day meetings of 1956 in Vilnius and Kaunas and the youth protest of 1972 after the self-immolation of Romas Kalanta, while being dangerous to the local government, were nevertheless kept under control. That increased Moscow’s trust in the republic’s nomenklatura (Grybkauskas, 2018, p. 452).
Yet, it is understandable that the republic’s nomenklatura could not risk initiating similar protests. The fact that such protests were dangerous to them is very evident from the so-called ‘baton ball’ in autumn 1988, when at the republic’s government ordered the dispersal of a meeting organized by the anti-Soviet Lithuanian Freedom League. Due to these riots, Ringaudas Songaila, who was Gorbachev’s placeman in this case, was dismissed from his post as First Secretary as he had lost the trust of his patron. The CC CPL ‘governor-general’, Second Secretary Nikolai Mitkin, was ordered to go back to Moscow. The Sąjūdis-backed Algirdas Brazauskas was instead made First Secretary, and Vladimir Beriozov, who was a Russian but still a local figure, became Second Secretary. Though the times had changed, compared to the Brezhnev period, the general modes of action remained the same: following such protests, Moscow had the last word.
The cooperation between the government and the cultural opposition and their less-than-obvious agreements reduced the level of risk for both sides. A republic’s government had more opportunities to control society’s dissatisfaction and be better informed about movements ‘from below’, while the cultural opposition had the chance to achieve its own goals, which were discussed in secret at closed meetings among people who knew each other.
Petitions and protests by representatives of the establishment and the cultural opposition
How and through what channels did the government communicate with society? It was not so easy for ordinary people, even those in the intelligentsia, to access the highest leaders of the republic. The first secretaries, like the lower-ranked leaders, would travel around the republic visiting ‘labour collectives’, which opened up opportunities. One could also request to attend a reception in the CC CPL building. According to the cultural opposition at the time, however, this was hardly a guarantee of actually getting to meet the first secretary. General questions such as regarding cultural heritage or protecting the environment were not the type of ‘personal issues’ one could complain about, such as being allocated an apartment or a car, by going around to various government institutions. In this case, a failed attempt could discredit the idea itself and compromise the initiative that had been so intensely nurtured by the community of enthusiasts. That is why the initiative-takers had to be sure that their actions would produce the desired results, and that the first secretary would not only receive their petition but give his approval.
Former staff from the first secretary’s technical secretariat acknowledged that even though it was possible to see the first secretary or send him a letter, the frequently busy Griškevičius would handle these ‘civilian visits’ through his assistants or secretary. The CC CPL, unlike the LSSR Council of Ministers, did not keep a civilian visitors’ register. According to Genovaitė Vaitkevičienė, Griškevičius’s long-serving secretary, there were cases where functionaries would intercept letters and other messages addressed to Griškevičius from members of the public that were damaging to them.23 This feature of Griškevičius’ team could be described as ‘stagnation’. A long-serving secretary of Griškevičius’ explained how she, knowing of this interception practice, would often take the correspondence herself directly from the CC reception to Griškevičius, and having received his stamp on the request, would take it to the CC CPL General Department to register the response containing the first secretary’s specific orders.24
A couple of examples of actions by the cultural opposition should be mentioned. The cultural opposition network that organized the garage protest noted above, succeeded in reaching their goal of stopping the construction of garages in the Old Town with the help of their friends, the representatives of the cultural establishment. During a session of the LSSR Supreme Soviet, the signatures in protest against the construction of garages were given to the poet and Lenin Prize laureate Eduardas Mieželaitis, a Deputy Chairman of the LSSR Supreme Soviet and a close client of Griškevičius. It was Mieželaitis who gave the information to the first secretary and received his promise that any construction would be stopped.
This was not the only such case where the cultural opposition operated by using representatives from the highest levels of power. Like Mieželaitis, another defender of the interests of the cultural opposition was the CC CPL Secretary for Industry and Construction, Algirdas Brazauskas. When it was realized that the storage facilities of the Literature Institute in Vilnius were planned to be constructed in a place where they would overshadow an architectural monument (the Baroque Church of the Holy Apostles Peter and Paul), cultural figures rushed to find ways of how this decision could be revoked. They decided to work through the daughter of Brazauskas, Laima Mertinienė, who worked at the Art Institute in the art researchers’ group. She gave a letter from the cultural opposition to Brazauskas, who passed it on to Griškevičius. When this ‘protest route’ proved to be successful, other letters were also given in this way to the highest levels of leadership in the republic via Mertinienė. Thus, intellectuals concerned with the protection of architectural and culture objects found an effective channel of communication with the government, which functioned well until, as the wife of writer Marcelijus Martynaitis and active cultural figure G. M. Martinaitienė put it, ‘eventually Brazauskas got caught. Once, when he was passing on another letter to Griškevičiuis, he [Griškevičius] turned very red and rebuked him: “Where on earth are you getting these papers from?”’ According to Martinaitienė, Brazauskas did not give away where he was getting the letters from. Thus, both of these examples show that the cultural opposition did have their agents and supporters in the highest levels of power (Ramonaitė, Kavaliauskaitė, and Klumbys, 2015, pp. 432–433).
The ‘garage story’ was not as unique as it is made out to be. Both it and the case of the storage facilities and other cases had their ‘forerunners’, in which not only the cultural opposition were active players but, as it would appear, quite conversely, the cultural establishment was also involved. The protests of the latter were even more effective and had a greater influence not just on the economic and social development in the republic but also went a long way in entrenching the importance of the cultural elite in the republic. Probably the most significant protest here was against the construction of an industrial giant – an oil refinery in Jurbarkas – on the Nemunas River.
Unlike the All-Union model, where only public organizations that did not have any rights were entrusted with environmental protection, in Soviet Lithuania a government institution was created for this purpose – the State Committee for the Environment. With the assistance of these networks, and the ties with famous cultural figures and the Party bureaucracy, a petition against the building of an oil refinery close to the Nemunas river was prepared and given to All-Union and republican government institutions on 22 March 1966. It was signed by around fifty famous representatives from the public, cultural, and scientific spheres (Ivanauskas, 2011, p. 222). Among those who added their names was the poet mentioned earlier, Mieželaitis. One of the most active participants in this protest was Kazys Ėringis from Klaipėda, who should probably be attributed to the government’s side, according to the aforementioned divide between the establishment and opposition networks. Nonetheless, the fact that Ėringis defected to the West in 1981, asked for political asylum, and became actively involved in Western propaganda only goes to show how conditional this divide actually was – it appears that Ėringis had harboured strong anti-Soviet sentiments for a long time, which he had to hide whilst living in Lithuania. There is no doubt that the victory of this petition and the goal that was achieved – the transfer of the planned giant oil refinery from the Nemunas to the republic’s periphery – was ingrained in the genetic ‘memory’ of cultural figures, so that similar subsequent protests and petitions had an example of ‘good practice’ to follow.
Another example is when the famous natural scientist, Professor Tadas Ivanauskas, the founder of the Kaunas Zoo in 1919, was accused of cosmopolitanism and of having a noble background back in the Stalinist period. Ivanauskas had close ties with another environmental activist, Viktoras Bergas, a Communist underground figure in the interwar years and later an officer in the Lithuanian Riflemen’s Division during World War II and a secretary on the Klaipėda gorkom in the post-war period. They both managed to create special networks for hunters, government and cultural representatives, and for environmentalists.
Interestingly, today these stories about the transfer of the Mažeikiai refinery in the 1960s and the garages in the Vilnius Old Town ten years later, are like separate, unrelated memory narratives told by different groups. The first story is a particular favourite among former nomenklatura figures and has become part of the ‘Even then we were working for Lithuania’ storyline referring to the title of Brazauskas’ famous book (Brazauskas, 2007). The second narrative is more of a reflection of the opposition’s activities. Nonetheless, both narratives share the same theme: the workings of Lithuanian society in the Soviet period. Keeping in mind the conditional nature of the divide between the nomenklatura and the cultural opposition networks, we can say that it was not just the opposition’s attitudes or the hidden ideological agenda of the networks that were important for the origins of contemporary Lithuania’s civil society. Of much greater importance was the density of the links between members of society that proves the existence of horizontal links between people, which gave civilians the chance to act. Perhaps the opposition’s activities could have even been construed as counter to normal democratic behaviour, as they created their networks to be separate from the rest of society, convinced of their exceptionality and having such a casual approach towards others that they might have appeared to be hardened Communists. So, in these networks, the feeling of power could have come at the cost of a lost sense of social sensitivity; the imagined goal could have been elevated above friendly relations themselves. These social barriers could have formed a closed society, a kind of counter-elite nomenklatura.
That is why it was not divides, conspiracies, or noble goals that formed civil society. It was created by a broad palette of various links. That one knew, was on good terms with, and could talk to a district’s Communist Party secretary or the chairman of the executive committee, and at the same time knew a person from the black market who was able to go around the existing order and acquire deficit goods, as well as an outright anti-Soviet person, opened up a range of opportunities to engage in civil action. A collective complaint, in effect, given the degrading Russian word ‘kliauza’, was not so different to a more noble petition about religious freedom or the equivalent. The social capital existing in these networks allowed an over-stepping of the atomization of totalitarianism. A person having such links, who had amassed their power in horizontal relations, was no longer helpless against the regime or one power source. That is why the broad spectrum of social networks and the opportunities they offered to people allows us to correctly identify the ‘invisible society’, outlined by other authors, which constitute the beginnings of today’s civil society.
Conclusion
This chapter analyses the field of relations in the nomenklatura not merely as a list of certain duties and posts but complex interaction, both within the nomenklatura and between it and the intelligentsia and cultural opposition. This interaction involved the first secretary’s clan with professional networks of branched sections in construction, culture, and agriculture, and was affected by the functionaries’ loyalty to the first secretary, by mutual horizontal relations and by professional functionalism. The need for a functional network was strong due to the relatively meagre status of the Soviet Lithuanian leader in the All-Union bureaucratic ‘market’. Compared to other republics with a high level of anti-Soviet dissatisfaction among the population, the presence of Moscow’s ‘eyes and ears’ – the CC CPL second secretary – who, despite holding less political power than the first, created competition and elevated the value of ‘ordinary members of the nomenklatura’ in the eyes of the first secretary. Griškevičius, who was constantly plagued by health problems, lacked the energy and charisma required of a leader. His people skills were lacking. These personal drawbacks were, however, at least partly compensated by his ‘work with cadres’, and his ability to balance out the interests of different government groups. For this, he relied on functional and nepotism-driven networks, juxtaposing them against one another to achieve his desired goals.
In order to understand the political dynamics at play in the peripheries during the Soviet period, it makes little difference whether the focused networks were clearly oppositional, only partly oppositional, or Soviet. It is not so important whether that informal activity was hostile to the Soviet system itself, or even supported it in a calculated way, or conversely, without the persons not even noticing it themselves. A certain degree of opposition, and toleration of other opinions could actually have increased the Soviet system’s capacity for regeneration, its flexibility, and vitality. Authors who have made assessments of the opposition’s actions are inclined to exaggerate the Soviet system’s flexibility, its ability to change, and conversely, take an overly sceptic approach to the opposition’s and society’s impact on political change. In order for the system to be at least somewhat more liberal, and so that it would have at least some tolerance in its assessment of non-conformist figures, then that different way of thinking had to exist as such. This was not the result of any acts of goodwill on behalf of Soviet leaders but the result of the opposition, of protests, of local initiatives that were not initially officially approved from above, but hard fought and won through the act of resistance. We should not be led to believe that the Soviet regime willingly declined to hold on to its power and governance of society: it was forced to do this, as otherwise the existence of this political system would have been impossible. Ainė Ramonaitė has challenged both the neo-totalitarian approach in her work, and post-revisionism, which claims that Sovietization was unavoidable and could infiltrate and become internalized without someone actually even noticing. Nonetheless, in her analysis she focuses her efforts on proving to non-Soviet society how it was different to the other, Soviet, society. So, efforts are made to ‘separate the wheat from the chaff’, and to be guided by the ‘good’ civil side claiming that the beginnings of a civil society existed already in the Soviet period, from which the Sąjūdis movement originated. We understand that clarification is an unnatural construct that serves a clear objective: to prove the existence of a divide between Soviet and non-Soviet society, in terms of its impact on the value of the latter. The focus in my chapter has instead been on the regime’s ability to communicate with society, to take into consideration the aspirations and demands of different social groups.
Notes
1 The chapter was prepared in implementing Saulius Grybkauskas LMTLT P-LIP-21–66 research project ‘Soviet Nomenklatura Letters to Moscow: Content and Issues’.
2 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Lionginas Šepetys, 1 June 2009.
3 According to Norkus (2008, p. 251), the struggle between patrons and their clients is typical of neo-patrimonial systems.
4 RGANI, f. 100, op. 6, d. 84, l. 5. Letter of Dybenko, head of Byelorussia and the Baltic republics of Organizational party work of CC CPSU, to CC CPSU from 25 March 1975.
5 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Vytautas Astrauskas, 4 March 2014.
6 Lietuvos ypatingasis archyvas (Lithuanian Special Archives hereafter LYA), fondas 1771, apyrašas 274, byla 590, lapas 14. Decree of the LSSR Minister of Health J. Platūkis, 21 December 1982; Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Bernadeta Sakalauskienė and Vanda Klikūniene, 10 February 2015; Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Vladislovas Mikučiauskas, 25 April 2015; LYA, f. 1771, ap. 274, b. 590, l. 16. Protocol of CC CPL Bureau meeting, 25 July 1984.
7 Interview with Astrauskas, 4 March 2014.
8 Interview with Astrauskas, 4 March 2014.
9 Interview with Šepetys, 27 March 2015.
10 Interview with Astrauskas, 4 March 2014.
11 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Justas Paleckis, 26 March 2015.
12 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Nukzar Popchadze, 31 August 2011.
13 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Algirdas Maniušis, son of Juozas Maniušis, 20 August 2018.
14 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Romualdas Sakalauskas, 19 March 2015.
15 Astrauskas claims that Brazauskas was the most ‘outspoken’ of the CC CPL secretaries. Nonetheless, Griškevičius valued Brazauskas’ knowledge in the fields of industry and construction and his abilities to manage the fields within his competency. Interview with Astraukas, 4 March 2014.
16 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Vilius Kazanavičius, 29 November 2013.
17 For example, in an interview the former LSSR deputy minister for construction gave to Vilius Ivanauskas, a critical attitude towards the activities of Kazanavičius is very obvious, see Vilius Ivanauskas interview with Adakras Šeštakauskas, 2007 (Archive of Lithuanian Institute of History, f. 66). The professional construction leaders’ networks must have also played an important role here. Thus, we can surmise that the construction sector clan was characterized by very strong personal links.
18 Interview with Kazanavičius, 29 November 2013.
19 Lithuanian Central State archives, f. R-754, ap. 4, b. 9968.
20 Claims about the impact of a Communist ethnic bias on the establishment and entrenchment of the Soviet system are discussed in Lithuanian historiography, see, for example, Putinaitė (2007).
21 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Vitalii Sobolev, the former Head of the Belorussia and Baltic Sector of the CC CPSU Department of Organizational-Party Work (1983–1984), 1 April 2012.
22 Interview with Astrauskas, 4 March 2014.
23 Interview by Saulius Grybkauskas with Genovaitė Vaitkevičienė, 1 March 2019.
24 Ibid.
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