...The situation became particularly interesting in the aftermath of Khrushchev’s Secret Speech, denouncing Stalin, in February 1956.
That “speech” was not so much intended to become a blow to Stalin’s memory or legacy, as it was a ploy to disassociate him publicly from the old guard of the Presidium, displaying himself as a new, different kind of leader. What he most certainly succeeded in demonstrating was independent force, an ability to surprise and shock, in other words, far greater qualities of leadership than anyone else in the Presidium had been capable of. In its peculiar outcome, even those who hated Khrushchev for “raping public consciousness,” were now ready to give him a chance to show his mettle.
Artem was very upset by the Speech, although by now he was all too familiar with Khrushchev’s anti-Stalin diatribes. Konev reacted more cautiously, trying not to commit himself to either side of the controversy. But Zhukov had made up his mind to stick with Khrushchev, and supported his bold move unequivocally. Now, Khrushchev could count on the strength of Zhukov’s immense popularity and also on his military support of Khrushchev’s political actions. Thus, in June 1957, during the famous (many would say infamous) Plenary meeting of the Central Committee, Zhukov essentially reshuffled the deck in Khrushchev’s favor. Some of the votes in this bloodless palace revolution were clearly influenced by the tanks under Zhukov’s command, stationed outside the building, and reminding everyone of their presence by some very impatient roars. To make a very long story short, Khrushchev’s detractors in the Presidium lost, and Khrushchev won, wasting no time to start putting his house in order.
Poor Zhukov! He had thought he was so smart demanding a seat on the Presidium, while his tanks were still roaring outside the conference hall. He got it all right, but so what? Alas, he couldn’t keep the tanks roaring forever. As soon as the tanks were sent away, Marshal Zhukov became… well, vulnerable.
His story encapsulates one of life’s supreme ironies. To the public, to the West, to any historian looking at the Marshal's personal résumé, he reached the peak of his power in June 1957: one of the greatest national heroes in Russian history, Soviet Minister of Defense, and now Member of the all-powerful Presidium!! But underneath the surface, things were very different!
Zhukov was a bad politician, but as a military genius he had an excellent nose for smelling trouble. He knew he had been had, when the members of the new Presidium whom he had personally helped to install, refused to honor their payback time and kept turning down his political initiatives, one after another. As a Presidium Member, he was rendered scandalously ineffectual. He had been accustomed to commanding armies, but his new position of power was a sickening joke. Yes, he was a great military commander. However, his manner of doing business did not sit well with the politicians in the Presidium. Everything he demanded to be done, regardless of its merit, was just turning dead.
What a terrible thing for a genuine colossus to feel that he had become a political sham, an impotent puppet, after having built with his own hands the fortune of his deceiver! “Khrushchev” had now become the dirtiest word in his rough lexicon.
He painfully regretted his renunciation of Stalinism, by the fact of his support of this renegade Stalin-basher Khrushchev. At last, he was able to understand how he had shot himself in the foot. The Stalinist appeal: an intense national thirst for the strongman-hero, who would lift Russia out of misery and confusion, had been Zhukov’s only hope to make it big. But Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization was effectively a “de-Zhukovization” too. Those new people, whom Zhukov had brought to power, were all his ideological detractors. As for his prized Presidium membership, “you could not even wipe your ass with it,” as Zhukov would philosophically remark later, looking back at his life.
Ironically, the same people whom Zhukov had helped to oust: Molotov, Kaganovich, Malenkov would later all become, in their common misery of political disgrace, his ideological comrades. They would all end up admiring the good old days of Stalin and Stalinism, even though, under their enemy Khrushchev, they were enjoying state pensions, excellent housing, and government dachas, while under Stalin their disgrace would have meant certain death.
Before the eventful summer of 1957 was out, Zhukov invited Artem to a private meeting, where during their lovely walk in the woods he unloaded on him his fury against Khrushchev. Having brought Stalin down, this “reckless opportunist” was trashing Russia's great achievements of the past thirty years, undermining Soviet morale and tarnishing Russia’s superpower image in the world!
Zhukov was somehow convinced that what had been done could just as easily be undone. There were too many people deeply offended by Khrushchev. Besides, Zhukov’s image was still riding high and his grip on the military personnel was still unshakable. When push came to shove, there was no doubt as to whom they would rather follow. In his new effort to unseat Khrushchev, he had spoken to the old-timers. Mikoyan and Prime Minister Bulganin pledged their support. President Voroshilov looked scared, and was vague, but he had shaken Zhukov’s hand, which privately meant that he could be counted in.
Zhukov needed Artem’s help too. He knew that Artem had been critical of his behavior and had said some far from nice words about him in his conversations with many friends. Zhukov would never stoop down to apologize for his actions, but he was ready to admit that they had been a mistake. He just wanted Artem to know that in his opinion now, Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization was a travesty and wanted Artem to take this into consideration, so that he and his friends would no longer be confused by Zhukov’s mixed signals.
Had it been someone else, Artem would have hesitated to accept such a repentance. But Zhukov’s appeal was still powerful, and Artem pledged to him his support. However, Khrushchev was not sitting out there like a patsy waiting for an angry Zhukov to strike back at him. Before the conspirators had their chance to act, in October 1957, Zhukov was going on a State trip to Eastern Europe, totally unsuspecting of any foul play on Khrushchev’s part. On the contrary, Zhukov felt super-confident and quite secure.
But he was wrong again. While he was abroad, his persona suffered a swift political “assassination,” which reduced him to a non-person overnight. On his return to Moscow, his “retirement” was personally handled by none other than his dear old “friend” Marshal Konev.
Of the two old-timers who had pledged him their unequivocal support, Prime Minister Bulganin reaped the consequences soon thereafter, early next year being dismissed from all his posts as an anti-Party element. Mikoyan, on the other hand, fared extremely well under Khrushchev, and eventually he became President of the USSR. They didn’t call Mikoyan The Great Survivor for nothing. Most insiders believed, then and later, that it was he, who had stabbed Zhukov in the back by spilling the beans to Khrushchev, and thus caused Zhukov’s abrupt removal from office.
That “speech” was not so much intended to become a blow to Stalin’s memory or legacy, as it was a ploy to disassociate him publicly from the old guard of the Presidium, displaying himself as a new, different kind of leader. What he most certainly succeeded in demonstrating was independent force, an ability to surprise and shock, in other words, far greater qualities of leadership than anyone else in the Presidium had been capable of. In its peculiar outcome, even those who hated Khrushchev for “raping public consciousness,” were now ready to give him a chance to show his mettle.
Artem was very upset by the Speech, although by now he was all too familiar with Khrushchev’s anti-Stalin diatribes. Konev reacted more cautiously, trying not to commit himself to either side of the controversy. But Zhukov had made up his mind to stick with Khrushchev, and supported his bold move unequivocally. Now, Khrushchev could count on the strength of Zhukov’s immense popularity and also on his military support of Khrushchev’s political actions. Thus, in June 1957, during the famous (many would say infamous) Plenary meeting of the Central Committee, Zhukov essentially reshuffled the deck in Khrushchev’s favor. Some of the votes in this bloodless palace revolution were clearly influenced by the tanks under Zhukov’s command, stationed outside the building, and reminding everyone of their presence by some very impatient roars. To make a very long story short, Khrushchev’s detractors in the Presidium lost, and Khrushchev won, wasting no time to start putting his house in order.
Poor Zhukov! He had thought he was so smart demanding a seat on the Presidium, while his tanks were still roaring outside the conference hall. He got it all right, but so what? Alas, he couldn’t keep the tanks roaring forever. As soon as the tanks were sent away, Marshal Zhukov became… well, vulnerable.
His story encapsulates one of life’s supreme ironies. To the public, to the West, to any historian looking at the Marshal's personal résumé, he reached the peak of his power in June 1957: one of the greatest national heroes in Russian history, Soviet Minister of Defense, and now Member of the all-powerful Presidium!! But underneath the surface, things were very different!
Zhukov was a bad politician, but as a military genius he had an excellent nose for smelling trouble. He knew he had been had, when the members of the new Presidium whom he had personally helped to install, refused to honor their payback time and kept turning down his political initiatives, one after another. As a Presidium Member, he was rendered scandalously ineffectual. He had been accustomed to commanding armies, but his new position of power was a sickening joke. Yes, he was a great military commander. However, his manner of doing business did not sit well with the politicians in the Presidium. Everything he demanded to be done, regardless of its merit, was just turning dead.
What a terrible thing for a genuine colossus to feel that he had become a political sham, an impotent puppet, after having built with his own hands the fortune of his deceiver! “Khrushchev” had now become the dirtiest word in his rough lexicon.
He painfully regretted his renunciation of Stalinism, by the fact of his support of this renegade Stalin-basher Khrushchev. At last, he was able to understand how he had shot himself in the foot. The Stalinist appeal: an intense national thirst for the strongman-hero, who would lift Russia out of misery and confusion, had been Zhukov’s only hope to make it big. But Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization was effectively a “de-Zhukovization” too. Those new people, whom Zhukov had brought to power, were all his ideological detractors. As for his prized Presidium membership, “you could not even wipe your ass with it,” as Zhukov would philosophically remark later, looking back at his life.
Ironically, the same people whom Zhukov had helped to oust: Molotov, Kaganovich, Malenkov would later all become, in their common misery of political disgrace, his ideological comrades. They would all end up admiring the good old days of Stalin and Stalinism, even though, under their enemy Khrushchev, they were enjoying state pensions, excellent housing, and government dachas, while under Stalin their disgrace would have meant certain death.
Before the eventful summer of 1957 was out, Zhukov invited Artem to a private meeting, where during their lovely walk in the woods he unloaded on him his fury against Khrushchev. Having brought Stalin down, this “reckless opportunist” was trashing Russia's great achievements of the past thirty years, undermining Soviet morale and tarnishing Russia’s superpower image in the world!
Zhukov was somehow convinced that what had been done could just as easily be undone. There were too many people deeply offended by Khrushchev. Besides, Zhukov’s image was still riding high and his grip on the military personnel was still unshakable. When push came to shove, there was no doubt as to whom they would rather follow. In his new effort to unseat Khrushchev, he had spoken to the old-timers. Mikoyan and Prime Minister Bulganin pledged their support. President Voroshilov looked scared, and was vague, but he had shaken Zhukov’s hand, which privately meant that he could be counted in.
Zhukov needed Artem’s help too. He knew that Artem had been critical of his behavior and had said some far from nice words about him in his conversations with many friends. Zhukov would never stoop down to apologize for his actions, but he was ready to admit that they had been a mistake. He just wanted Artem to know that in his opinion now, Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization was a travesty and wanted Artem to take this into consideration, so that he and his friends would no longer be confused by Zhukov’s mixed signals.
Had it been someone else, Artem would have hesitated to accept such a repentance. But Zhukov’s appeal was still powerful, and Artem pledged to him his support. However, Khrushchev was not sitting out there like a patsy waiting for an angry Zhukov to strike back at him. Before the conspirators had their chance to act, in October 1957, Zhukov was going on a State trip to Eastern Europe, totally unsuspecting of any foul play on Khrushchev’s part. On the contrary, Zhukov felt super-confident and quite secure.
But he was wrong again. While he was abroad, his persona suffered a swift political “assassination,” which reduced him to a non-person overnight. On his return to Moscow, his “retirement” was personally handled by none other than his dear old “friend” Marshal Konev.
Of the two old-timers who had pledged him their unequivocal support, Prime Minister Bulganin reaped the consequences soon thereafter, early next year being dismissed from all his posts as an anti-Party element. Mikoyan, on the other hand, fared extremely well under Khrushchev, and eventually he became President of the USSR. They didn’t call Mikoyan The Great Survivor for nothing. Most insiders believed, then and later, that it was he, who had stabbed Zhukov in the back by spilling the beans to Khrushchev, and thus caused Zhukov’s abrupt removal from office.
No comments:
Post a Comment