Gulag Archipelago: Chapter 3 Interrogation
New use for my favourite hair clip: holding open the pages of my tattered paperback so I can type quotations:
"If the intellectuals in the plays of Chekhov who spent all their time guessing what would happen in twenty, thirty, or forty years had been told that in forty years interrogation by torture would be practiced in Russia; that prisoners would have their skulls squeezed with iron rings; that a human being would be lowered into an acid bath; that they would be trussed up naked to be bitten by ants and bedbugs; that ramrod heated over a primus stove would be thrust up their anal canal (the "secret brand"); that a man's genitals would be slowly crushed beneath the toe of a jackboot; and that, in the luckiest possible circumstances, a prisoner would be tortured by being kept from sleeping for a week, by thirst, and by being beaten to a bloody pulp, not one of Chekhov's plays would have gotten to its end because all the heroes would have gone off to insane asylums." (93)
No one of those intellectuals could have comprehended how widespread and common such torture would become. Solzhenitsyn demolishes the idea of historical progress toward more humane behaviour: "What had been acceptable under Tsar Aleksai Mikhailovich in the seventeenth century, what had already been regarded as barbarism under Peter the Great, what might have been used against ten or twenty people in all during the time of Biron in the mid eighteenth century, what had become totally impossible under Catherine the Great, was all being practiced during the flowering of the 20th century--in a society based on socialist principles, and at a time when airplanes were flying and the radio and talking films had already appeared--not by one scoundrel alone but by tens of thousands of specially trained human beasts standing over millions of defenseless victims." (93-94)
Why did these interrogations happen?
Solzehnitsyn immediately clarifies: "Throughout the years and decades, interrogations under Article 58 were almost never undertaken to elicit the truth, but were simply an exercise in an inevitably filthy procedure...." to take a person who had been free and through torture make him almost thankful to be through the process and a prisoner of the Archipelago. (95)
Testimony from survivors all shows the same pattern: few people knew why they had been arrested. In fact the interrogators often didn't either, and appeared to be creating the accusations through the interrogations. They might outright fabricate a case, or they might improvise. The following instructions to interrogators were provided by one M.I Latsis: "'In the interrogation do not seek evidence and proof that the person acted in word or deed against Soviet power. The first question should be: What is his class, what is his origine, what is his education and upbringing? ... These are the questions which must determine the fate of the accused." (96-97)
One Andrei Yanuaryevich provided another take on the theme of guilt: "[he]pointed out...it is never possible for mortal men to establish the absolute truth, but relative truth only. He then proceeded to a further step, which jurists of the last two thousand years ad not been willing to take: that the truth established by interrogation and trial could not be absolute, but only, so to speak, relative. Therefore, when we sign a sentence ordering someone to be shot we can never be absolutely certain, but only approximately, in view of certain hypotheses, and in a certain sense, that we are punishing a guilty person. Thence arose the most practical conclusion: that it was useless to seek absolute evidence--for evidence is always relative--or unchallengable witnesses--for they can say different things at different times. The proofs of guilt were relative, approximate, and the interrogator could find them, even when there was no evidence and no witness, without leaving his office, 'basing his conclusions not only on his intellect but also on his Party sensitivity, his moral forces' (in other words, the superiority of someone who has slept well, has been well fed, and has not been beaten up) "
'and on his character' (i.e. his willingness to apply cruelty."
Solzhenitsyn concludes: "Of course, this formulation was much more elegant than Latsis' instructions. But the essence of both was the same." (101) While torture appeared never to be sanctioned in writing, an implicit "the end justifies the means" philosophy prevails, and there were incentives for getting confessions from prisoners.
Following this Solzhenitsyn lists 31 methods of physical and psychological torture....and one gets the impression he only stops at 31 because the point has already been made to excess. "What won't idle, well fed, unfeeling people invent?" It is hard to disagree with his conclusion: "Do not condemn those who, finding themselves in such a situation, turned out to be weak and confessed to more than they should have..." (117)
But in the next part of the chapter, Solzhenitsyn explains that often, torture was not even required to extract a confession, because the accused was isolated, confused, and was not allow to see the law which he or she had supposedly broken. He gives an example of a person who is suddenly asked what he talked about with his close friend: especially during one conversation on the street where they were observed to be "frowning". Faced with such a question, here are the thoughts that might go through your mind:
"What [were you talking] about? It is fine if you talked about hockey--that, friends, is in all cases the least troublesome! Or about women, or even about science. Then you can repeat what was said. (Science is not too far removed from hockey, but in our time everything to do with science is classified information and they may get you for a violation of the Decree on Revealing State Secrets.) But what if you did in actual fact talk about the latest arrests in the city? or about the collective farms? (Of course, critically--for who has anything good to say about them?) Or about reducing the rate of pay for piecework? The fact remains that you frowned for half an hour at the intersection--what were you talking about then?" (119)
Meanwhile you have been assured that your good friend has already denounced you, will tell what you talked about anyway, etc. "From childhood on we are educated and trained--for our own profession; for our civil duties; for military service; to take care of our bodily needs; to behave well; even to appreciate beauty (well this last one not really all that much!). But neither our education, nor our upbringing, nor our experience prepares us for the greatest trial of our lives: being arrested for nothing and interrogated about nothing." (121)
Solzhenitsyn asks: “So what is the answer? How can you stand your ground when you are weak and sensitive to pain, when people you love are still alive, when you are unprepared?
“From the moment you go to prison you must put your cozy past firmly behind you. At the very threshold, you must say to yourself: ‘My life is over, a little early to be sure, but there’s nothing to be done about it. I shall never return to freedom. I am condemned to die: now or a little later. But later on, in truth, it will be even harder, and so the sooner the better. I no longer have any property whatsoever. For me those I love have died, and for them I have died. From today on, my body is useless and alien to me. Only my spirit and conscience remain precious and important to me.’
“Confronted by such a prisoner, the interrogator will tremble.
“Only the man who has renounced everything can win the victory.
“But how can one turn one’s body to stone?” (130)
Solzhenitsyn has no universal answer to that question, but goes on to give some examples of successful resistance, showing it was possible if not common. One was an old woman who housed a metropolitan of the Orthodox Church for one night in her house. The interrogators ask where he went after leaving her. “I know, but I won’t tell you!” The interrogators shake fists in her face, and she replies: “‘There is nothing you can do with me even if you cut me into pieces. After all, you are afraid of your bosses, and you are afraid of each other, and you are afraid even if killing me.’ (They would lose contact with the Underground Railroad.) ‘But I am not afraid of anything. I would be glad to be judged by God this minute.” (131)
But it does not seem to have been common to have the old woman’s perceptiveness and courage, though that is not the same as saying it was impossible. The interrogators had time and resources to find and use the prisoners weaknesses against them. Even in cases where the writing of the law might allow the prisoner to protest an accusation or action, the interrogators made sure he did not know the law. They were allowed At the end of the chapter, Solzhenitsyn is allowed (by the prosecutor, whom he has just met) to review the case against him. He challenges part of it.
“‘I won’t sign,’ I said, without much firmness. ‘You conducted the interrogation improperly.’
‘Alright then, let’s begin it all over again!’ Maliciously he compressed his lips. ‘We’ll send you to the place we keep the Polizei.’(142)
He signs.
The chapter ends with these words: “We have lost the measure of freedom. We have no means of determining where it begins and where it ends.....By now we are unsure whether we have the right to talk about the events of our own lives.” (143)
I am left with the feeling that resistance to such a regime requires a great clarity of thought and courage, and that it is precisely these things that are hard come by when living with secrets and lies, betrayal, and the fog of an illogical (by moral standards) bureaucracy. Again, if it is too late for most of us to resist when the interrogators have fully come to power, is there anything we can do before that happens?
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