Dispirited Russian intellectuals see another writer forced into exile

Press, 29 December 1980, Page 8

Dispirited Russian intellectuals see another writer forced into exile

By MICHAEL Binyon, of “The Times” Moscow

One of the funniest and most biting satirical writers in the Soviet Union said a final farewell to his grieving friends last week, boarded an airliner for West Germany and flew with his wife and child into permanent exile. '■' Vladimir Voinovich, already widelv known in the West for.. “The Adventures of Private Chonkin," and “The Ivankiad”, is following -what has now become a well-trodden path.

' One by one, the new wave of writers and artists who made their name and won prizes in the intellectual ferment of the early 1960 s have fallen foul of an increasingly strident artistic orthodoxy, been expelled from the Union of Soviet Writers, harassed by the K.G.B. security police, attacked;. in- the press, and forced to emigrate to the West.

Voinovich leaves behind a tired and dispirited intellectual community, weakened by a decade , of frustrated attempts to expand the boundaries of contemporary Soviet literature and depleted by steady emigration. i Many of the leading postwar writers are now in Paris or America: Alexander Sol-

zhenitsyn, the poet Josef 1 Brodsky, Andrei Sinyavsky, whose trial with Yuri Daniel in 1966 put an abrupt end to the cultural outpouring of the Khrushchev era, Vladimir Maksimov, and Viktor Nekrasov.. In the last two months they have been joined by Vasili Aksyonov, arguably the most popular and respected novelist of his generation, and Lev Kopelev, a towering figure whose flat was a centre for Moscow’s intellectual community/ _ Yet paradoxically this community has' been heartened by the recent publication of long-suppressed poems by Boris Pasternak, who died in disgrace 20 years ago, and by the gradu: al rehabilitation' and publication of several poets and writers who fell victim to Stalin’s purges. Incorporated in an article by the poet Andrei Voznesensky, one of the few literary giants from the turbulent post-Stalin awakening whohas remained uncompromised, “Novy Mir,” the leading Soviety literary journal, published this autumn the uncensored texts of religious poems drawn from the final section of “Doctor Zhivago,” a work that has still not been., published in Russia. R* At the same time limited editions have been published of works by Anna Akhma-

tova, Osip Mandelshtam, Marina Tsvetayeva, and other lost luminaries of the brief flourishing of the arts in the early years of Soviet power. But many of these can only readily be found in Moscow’s hard-currency bookshop, to which only foreigners have access. Some writers suspect that their publication is really only “for show,” a demonstration to the West that the postStalin literary thaw is continuing. Two years ago, Aksyonov also accused the Soviet Copyright Agency, V.A.A.P., of turning his novels into “export wares.” He told "Le Monde” that works rejected by Soviet publishers had been sold by V.A.A.P. to French publishers. It is true that many good and officially accepted writers still remain in the Soviet Union today. Among the poets Voznesensky, the once fiery Evgeny Yevtu- ; shenko, and the outspoken Bella Akhmadulina; among writers Yuri Trifonov, Valentin Rasputin, and Chinghiz Aitmatov, the remarkable prize-winning Kirghiz author. Even the journal “Novy Mir”, once the symbol of Soviet liberalism and more recently noted for its dull conformity, appears to be i trying to regenerate some of . the old intellectual ferment 1

But today’s ferment exists only by the grace, and under the control, of the political authorities, embodied in the official writers’ union, to which every writer has to belong if he wants to be published. And the unions watchword is orthodoxy. Recently, the campaign for political conformity has been Intensified. An important decree on strengthening ideological propaganda issued last. year calls on writers to do their bit. President Brezhnev’s three autobiographical works, heavy Ml political moralizing, have often been held up as a paragon of Soviet literature whose example all have been urged to follow. Not long ago “Pravda” said in a front-page editorial that too many writers neglected the role of the Communist Party in Soviet life and failed to examine its internal conflicts or the high intellectual qualities it demands of those entrusted to be the champions of the party line and the exponents of its will.” , u Recent attempts by both young and established writers to win more freedom from censorship have been brutallv suppressed. Last year, 23 writers tried to publish a lengthy almanac called “Metropol" of works the censors had held up. The response was swift: they were denounced m the

writers union, interviewed by the K.G.8., harassed and 1 asked to recant. Some of the i more famous, such as Voznesensky and Akhmadulina, • , were merely warned. Others had their works withdrawn ; from shops, Aksyonov was eventuallv forced to emigrate, and the two youngest of the five organizers were : refused admission to the writers’ union, thus ruining ’ any hopes of publication in the Soviet Union. Three weeks ago another . attempt by seven young and i lesser known writers to set up a private dub for unt censored experimental writing was equally swiftly sup- ■ pressed. At a time when dissent is ’ being rooted out throughout [ the country, writers have - been given clear warnings . that smuggling manuscripts . to the West, attempting to i get round censorship and > challenging the party • line ■ will be equally vigorously i prosecuted. > Many have accepted the ■ new clamp-down with quiet resignation and turned ini wards on themselves. Some I have compromised or sought t less controversial themes. , Others have written “for the t desk drawer,” hoping that , one day their manuscripts . will be found acceptable. J And writers such as Voinovich who have been unable to : compromise have had to : emigrate.