Fools for Communism


Still apologists after all these years


Glenn Garvin <http://www.reason.com/contrib/show/168.html>  | April 2004 Print  
<http://www.reason.com/issues/show/389.html> Edition

In Denial: Historians, Communism and Espionage 
<http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1893554724/reasonmagazineA/> , by John 
Earl Haynes and Harvey Klehr, San Francisco: Encounter Books, 300 pages, $25.95

In 1983 the Indiana University historian Robert F. Byrnes collected essays from 
35 experts on the Soviet Union -- the cream of American academia -- in a book 
titled After Brezhnev. Their conclusion: Any U.S. thought of winning the Cold 
War was a pipe dream. "The Soviet Union is going to remain a stable state, with 
a very stable, conservative, immobile government," Byrnes said in an interview, 
summing up the book. "We don't see any collapse or weakening of the Soviet 
system."

Barely six years later, the Soviet empire began falling apart. By 1991 it had 
vanished from the face of the earth. Did Professor Byrnes call a press 
conference to offer an apology for the collective stupidity of his colleagues, 
or for his part in recording it? Did he edit a new work titled Gosh, We Didn't 
Know Our Ass From Our Elbow? Hardly. Being part of the American chattering 
class means never having to say you're sorry.

Journalism, academia, policy wonkery: They all maintain well-oiled Orwellian 
memory holes, into which errors vanish without a trace. Stern pronouncements 
are hurled down like thunderbolts from Zeus, and, like Zeus, their authors are 
totally unaccountable to mere human beings. Time's Strobe Talbott decreed in 
1982 that it was "wishful thinking to predict that international Communism some 
day will either self-destruct or so exhaust itself in internecine conflict that 
other nations will no longer be threatened." A Wall Street analyst who 
misjudged a stock so badly would find himself living under a bridge, if not 
sharing a cell with Martha Stewart. But Talbott instead became Bill Clinton's 
deputy secretary of state, where he could apply his perspicacious geopolitical 
perceptual powers to Osama bin Laden.

One of the most striking revelations in the exposure of the Jayson Blair 
disaster at The New York Times was his fabrication of an entire visit to the 
West Virginia farm of POW Jessica Lynch's family, including detailed 
descriptions of rivers and cattle herds that did not exist. Lynch's parents 
read the story, laughed at the ludicrous falsehoods, but made no attempt to 
correct them. It never occurred to them that there was any point. Anybody who 
reads papers or watches television news knows how rare corrections are.

That's especially true when the mistake is not a discrete, concrete fact like a 
misspelled name but a broader error of perspective or analysis. It took decades 
for the Times to admit that the Pulitzer Prize-winning reporting of its 
Stalin-era Moscow bureau chief, Walter Duranty, was delusionary drivel. Even 
so, his Pulitzer stands. And the Times has yet to bite the bullet on its 
correspondent Herbert J. Matthews, the clueless Castro groupie who wrote that 
the comandante was winning his guerrilla war in Cuba at a time when he actually 
commanded fewer than 20 men.

Sometimes the refusal to confront errors is simple hubris. But often it masks a 
queasy reluctance to start down a path of self-examination, for fear of where 
it will lead. During the final days of the 1990 election in Nicaragua, ABC News 
released the results of a poll showing the ruling Sandinista Party ahead by 16 
percentage points. "For the Bush Administration and the Reagan Administration 
before it, the poll hints at a simple truth: After years of trying to get rid 
of the Sandinistas, there is not much to show for their efforts," Peter 
Jennings gravely informed his viewers. But a few days later, the Sandinistas 
lost -- by 14 percentage points. The "simple truth" was really that the poll, 
like so much of what ABC and other American news media outlets had been 
reporting from Nicaragua for the previous decade, was utterly, dumbfoundingly, 
whoppingly wrong. But if you think that triggered a frenzy of soul searching at 
ABC -- about how the poll could have been so mistaken, about how none of the 
network's reporters sensed anything askew -- then guess again. Instead, 
Jennings dismissed the subject the next day with a single smirking reference to 
the inscrutability of Nicaraguans.

What went unreported was a research project conducted during the election by 
the University of Michigan, which by deploying various groups of student 
pollsters discovered that Nicaraguans mistrusted foreigners, presumed them 
active allies of the Sandinistas, and persistently lied to them. That fact had 
calamitous implications not only for what reporters had been writing about 
Nicaragua in the previous decade but for the reporters themselves. What had 
they done to make Nicaraguans view them as a foreign auxiliary of the 
Sandinista Party? Could it be that journalists covering Nicaragua had a (gasp!) 
ideological bias in favor of the Sandinistas? And could it be a coincidence 
that you're probably reading about this study for the first time?

The end of the Cold War has produced many such numbing silences. The speed with 
which the Soviet empire imploded and the economic ruin and popular revulsion 
that were revealed have made it clear that baby boomer intellectuals and 
journalists, viewing the world through the distorted lens of Vietnam, 
overwhelmingly got it wrong. Peasants ate less and were slaughtered more on the 
other side of the Iron Curtain; the jails were fuller; the KGB's list was a lot 
longer and a lot deadlier than Joe McCarthy's. A team of French historians 
calculated the worldwide death toll of communism during the 20th century at 
more than 93 million. When Hoover Institution historian Robert Conquest used 
newly available data from the Soviet Union to update The Great Terror, his 
account of Stalin's murderous purges of the 1930s, his publishers asked for a 
new title. "How about I Told You So, You Fucking Fools?" Conquest suggested.

The Conquest anecdote comes from In Denial: Historians, Communism and 
Espionage, an improbably riveting dispatch from the battlefields of 
historiography by scholars John Earl Haynes and Harvey Klehr. 

Chilling and often perversely funny, it details the intellectual sleight of 
hand to which many American historians of communism and the Soviet Union have 
resorted as newly revealed archives in Moscow and Washington suggest they were, 
well, fucking fools.

Their efforts haven't been very successful. As Haynes and Klehr note, the 
world's final redoubt of communism is not Havana or Pyongyang but American 
college campuses: "The nostalgic afterlife of communism in the United States 
has outlived most of the real Communist regimes around the world....A sizable 
cadre of American intellectuals now openly applaud and apologize for one of the 
bloodiest ideologies of human history, and instead of being treated as pariahs, 
they hold distinguished positions in American higher education and cultural 
life."

Bold words, especially in academia, where suggesting somebody has communist 
sympathies -- even if he's carrying a bloody hammer and sickle in one hand and 
Trotsky's severed head in the other -- instantly draws gleeful cries of 
"McCarthyism!" I say, if this be blacklisting, make the most of it:

� Miami University's Robert W. Thurston, in his 1996 book Life and Terror in 
Stalin's Russia, rejects the overwhelming evidence that Stalin's purges took 
the lives of millions. He concedes only 681,692 executions in the years 1937 
and 1938, and a mere 2.5 million arrests. Even using those low-ball figures, 
that means that nearly one of every 20 adult Soviet males went to prison and 
that more than 900 of them were executed per day. Nonetheless, Thurston says 
Stalin has gotten a bad rap: There was no "mass terror...extensive fear did not 
exist...[and] Stalin was not guilty of mass first-degree murder."

� Theodore Von Laue, a professor emeritus of history at Clark University, goes 
further in a 1999 essay in The Historian. He says it's the damnable Russian 
peasantry that ought to be begging poor Stalin for forgiveness: "He supervised 
the near-chaotic transformation of peasant Eurasia into an urban, 
industrialized superpower under unprecedented adversities. Though his 
achievements were at the cost of exorbitant sacrifice of human beings and 
natural resources, they were on a scale commensurate with the cruelty of two 
world wars. With the heroic help of his uncomprehending people, Stalin provided 
his country, still highly vulnerable, with a territorial security absent in all 
history." And Stalin was no mere poet, Von Laue adds, but a damn fine 
technocrat too: "The sophisticated design of Soviet totalitarianism has perhaps 
not been sufficiently appre-ciated."

� Columbia's Eric Foner, a past president of both the American Historical 
Association and the Organization of American Historians, staking his bid as 
founder of what might be called the Smiley-Face School of History, denounces 
"the obsessive need to fill in the blank pages in the history of the Soviet 
era." He wasn't talking about pesky American historians using the Freedom of 
Information Act to ferret out new horror stories about J. Edgar Hoover but 
about a Moscow exhibition on the Soviet gulag. What possible good could come of 
learning the details of that?

Foner, Von Laue, and Thurston are not lone nuts, the academic equivalents of 
Mark Lane and Ramsey Clark, but important revisionist historians. The 
revisionists, mostly baby boomer survivors of the New Left, have been 
conducting their own Cold War with traditionalist historians for nearly four 
decades. Unlike in the rest of the world, in academia their side was 
victorious. Since the 1970s, it's been an article of faith in historical 
journals and university presses that the United States rather than the Soviet 
Union posed the greatest threat to world peace and political freedom.

The revisionists' dominion over the domestic side of Cold War history has been 
even more total. That's been written as melodrama, with the U.S. Communist 
Party, or CPUSA -- a collection of amiable folk singers, brave 
anti-segregationists, and Steinbeckian labor organizers -- trying to rescue the 
maiden of American democracy from the railroad tracks where McCarthy, J. Edgar 
Hoover, and the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) had tied her 
down. The revisionists reluctantly gave some ground on the nature of the Soviet 
Union as Mikhail Gorbachev's glasnost allowed some ugly facts to bubble to the 
surface, but they were adamant on the U.S. side: The Communist Party was just a 
lefty variant of the Republicans and Democrats, and people like Alger Hiss and 
the Rosenbergs were innocent martyrs, the victims of a demented witch hunt.

That myth was reduced to rubble by a series of crushing blows in the wake of 
the collapse of the Soviet Union. First, in 1992, the post-Soviet government of 
Boris Yeltsin threw open the Communist Party's records, including the enormous 
collection of documents held by the Communist International, or Comintern, 
which directed the affairs of foreign Communist parties during the first half 
of the century. Two years later, the Russian SVR, the cash-strapped successor 
to the KGB, allowed brief and limited access to some of its old files to a 
handful of Western historians in return for a substantial gratuity. And 
finally, in 1995, the U.S. government released thousands of KGB cables 
intercepted and decoded in the 1940s in a top-secret operation known as Venona. 
In all, some 2 million pages of new documents became available, a historical 
payload of unfathomable proportions and inestimable impact.

The new picture of American Communists that emerged looked nothing like the one 
painted by the revisionists. The CPUSA was founded in Moscow, funded from 
Moscow (as late as 1988 Gus Hall was signing receipts for $3 million a year), 
and directed by Moscow; the Comintern reviewed everything from the party's 
printing bills to its public explanations of the nuances of the Hitler-Stalin 
pact, and the slightest misstep could bring scorching rebukes.

Worse yet, it really was a nest of spies: Hundreds of CPUSA members had 
infiltrated the American government and were passing information to the KGB. 
They honeycombed the State Department and the Office of Strategic Services. 
Virtually all of the revisionists' martyrs really were spilling secrets to the 
Kremlin, including Alger Hiss, the Rosenbergs, and a pair of Roosevelt aides, 
Harry Dexter White and Laurence Duggan, who died (White of a heart attack, 
Duggan of a jump or fall from a window) after being questioned by HUAC. The 
CPUSA would do literally anything for Moscow, even kill: Party members were 
intimately involved in assassination plots against the heretic Bolshevik Leon 
Trotsky, and later they would assist in unsuccessful KGB plots to break his 
murderer out of jail. More than 350 spies, nearly all CPUSA members, are 
identified in the Venona cable traffic alone. One KGB cable gave Earl Browder, 
the party chief from 1930 to 1945, credit for personal recruitment of 18 spies. 
Another wondered how the KGB would ever operate in the United States without 
the help of the CPUSA.

If a similar treasure trove of documentary evidence about the Civil War had 
been uncovered -- say, establishing that Lincoln's government had been riddled 
with Confederate spies and that several of his cabinet members were secret 
slaveholders -- half the university presses in America would have burned out 
from overuse. But the revelations of CPUSA peonage to Moscow have produced only 
a handful of books from U.S. historians. Among the most notable have been three 
by Klehr and Haynes: The Secret World of American Communism, The Soviet World 
of American Communism (both co-authored with Russian documentarians), and 
Venona: Decoding Soviet Espionage in America.

Klehr, who teaches at Emory University, and Haynes, a historian with the 
Library of Congress, were among the first American scholars to examine the 
Communist Party archives thrown open in Moscow. Though traditionalist 
historians with a leery view of American Communists, they were hardly 
McCarthyite mad dogs. As recently as 1992, in The American Communist Movement: 
Storming Heaven Itself, they scoffed at the idea that the CPUSA was a colony of 
would-be Borises and Natashas. "Espionage was not a regular activity of the 
American C.P.," they wrote. "The party promoted communism and the interests of 
the Soviet Union through political means; espionage was the business of the 
Soviet Union's intelligence services. To see the American Communist Party 
chiefly as an instrument of espionage or a sort of Fifth Column misjudges its 
main purpose."

What they found in the Moscow archives convinced them otherwise. However many 
fluffhead folk singers and guilt-tripping Hollywood glitterati it may have 
contained, the CPUSA, they wrote three years later in The Secret World of 
American Communism, was also "a conspiracy financed by a hostile foreign power 
that recruited members for clandestine work, developed an elaborate underground 
apparatus, and used that apparatus to collaborate with espionage services of 
that power."

For conceding their mistake, Klehr and Haynes have undergone the intellectual 
equivalent of a Stalinist show trial by their fellow historians. A constant 
stream of articles in academic journals and lefty magazines -- even an entire 
conference sponsored by New York University's International Center for Advanced 
Studies -- has pilloried them for everything from "triumphalism" (that is, 
they're glad Stalin didn't win the Cold War; can you imagine a historian of 
World War II being drummed out of the profession for expressing gratitude that 
Hitler didn't win?) to accepting funding from conservative foundations (which, 
unlike the tens of millions of dollars the CPUSA took from the Kremlin, might 
come with secret strings attached) to starting the Vietnam War, destroying 
affirmative action, and dismantling the welfare state.

That bit about Vietnam came from a piece co-authored by Ellen Schrecker of 
Yeshiva University, who in a movement rich with unintentional self-parody 
nonetheless towers above the rest. We might even call her the Lucille Ball of 
anti-anti-communism, though, to be sure, she would never be so gauche as to 
associate with a pre-revolutionary Cuban like Ricky Ricardo. A prodigious 
apologist, Schrecker in one article conceded that Julius and Ethel Rosenberg 
delivered atomic secrets to the Soviets, then plaintively demanded: "Were these 
activities so awful?" She also coined the immortal phrase "non-traditional 
patriots" for the Rosenbergs, a felicitous way of saying that they lived in the 
United States but were loyal unto death to the Soviet Union.

Her accusation that Haynes and Klehr were a fascist Leviathan with their 
tentacles writhing in every right-wing plot of the past four decades appeared 
in The Nation, which, because it has 70 years of Stalinist apologias to 
justify, unsurprisingly offers some of the most die-hard resistance to the new 
Cold War scholarship. It also has contributed some hilarity to the debate, 
including then-editor Victor Navasky's argument that the word espionage was 
"out of context" when applied to American Communists during the Cold War. It 
would be more appropriate, he wrote, to say that "there were a lot of exchanges 
of information among people of good will."

There's no arguing with at least one part of that sentence: "a lot." One of 
those people of good will, KGB officer Itzhak Akhmerov, reported back to his 
bosses that CPUSA spies in America had provided him with enough U.S. government 
documents between 1942 and 1945 to fill 2,766 reels of microfilm. It apparently 
was a pretty one-sided exchange, since Akhmerov does not list any Soviet 
documents that he offered in return.

Ultimately, though, Navasky and The Nation turn from amusing to tendentious to 
dishonest as they twist and turn to avoid painful truths -- none, apparently, 
as distressing as the guilt of Alger Hiss, the New Deal aristocrat who pumped 
State Department secrets to the Soviets for more than a decade. The case 
against Hiss, the left's protests notwithstanding, has always been 
overwhelming. Whittaker Chambers, a courier for a spy ring of Washington 
Communists that reported to Soviet military intelligence, identified Hiss as 
his contact. A former KGB agent confirmed it.

Numerous witnesses, including maids of both families, reported seeing the men 
together regularly, and auto registration records supported Chambers' claim 
that Hiss gave him a car to aid in his transport of documents filched by the 
spy ring. Chambers produced dozens of summaries and copies of State Department 
documents, all either in Hiss' handwriting or typed on his typewriter. Though 
the statutes of limitations made it difficult to try Hiss for espionage, he was 
convicted in 1950 of lying about his relationship to Chambers.

The fall of the Soviet Union has driven even more nails into Hiss' coffin. A 
KGB cable in the Venona files identifies a spy code-named "Ales" at the State 
Department whose biographical details match only Hiss. Meanwhile, an interview 
with another State Department spy -- Noel Field, who fled behind the Iron 
Curtain when he fell under suspicion in 1949 -- was discovered in the archives 
of the Hungarian security police. Field related how his friend Hiss, unaware 
that Field was already spying for the KGB, had tried to recruit him as a source 
for Soviet military intelligence. The same story of the encounter between Field 
and Hiss (which dismayed the Soviets as a security lapse) turned up in KGB 
files in Moscow.

Writing in The Nation, Navasky dismisses all the new documents as contrivances, 
misunderstandings, and KGB braggadocio. What's really important, he says, is 
that in 1992 Hiss asked Dmitri Volkogonov, a disillusioned former Soviet 
general who was Boris Yeltsin's adviser on military affairs, to search 
intelligence archives for material on Hiss. Volkogonov replied that he had 
"carefully studied many documents from the archives of the intelligence 
services of the USSR as well as various information provided by the archives 
staff....I can inform you that Alger Hiss was never an agent of the 
intelligence services of the Soviet Union." Case closed, Navasky declares, 
though allowing casually that "Volkogonov later agreed with a persistent 
reporter that perhaps he should have qualified his declaration of Hiss' 
innocence because it's impossible to prove a negative."

Here's what Volkogonov actually said. He spent only two days on the "search" 
for documents and mostly relied on the word of KGB archivists. He didn't make 
any inquiries at all of Soviet military intelligence, the agency for which Hiss 
worked. And he had no idea the case was so controversial in the United States; 
he was just trying to do a favor to an old man near death. "What I saw gives no 
basis to claim a full clarification," Volkogonov admitted. "There's no 
guarantee that it was not destroyed, that it was not in other 
channels...Honestly, I was a bit taken aback. [Hiss' attorney] pushed me hard 
to say things of which I was not fully convinced."

If it seems that Navasky has turned Volkogonov's words upside down, that's not 
surprising, because Navasky has always lived in an upside-down universe where 
the moral flaw is not allegiance to a mass murderer like Stalin but turning 
away from him (to "crawl through the mud," in Navaskyspeak). The Nation has no 
harsh words for Paul Robeson, who refused to intervene for Russian friends who 
were about to be purged -- only for those, such as Elia Kazan, who denounced 
Stalin and his American quislings. When some Afghan peasant finally points out 
Osama bin Laden's cave, count on Navasky and The Nation to call him a dirty 
squealer and to explain that a few airplanes crashing into skyscrapers now and 
again are a small price to pay for the preservation of personal politesse. 

The whole "squealer" ethos is not only stupid -- what kind of moron would not 
have wanted Mafia turncoats to testify against John Gotti? -- but fraudulent. 
At a press conference last summer, I listened to the playwright Chris Trumbo 
argue that Elia Kazan should have been denied an Oscar for naming Hollywood 
Communists to HUAC. During World War II, when the Soviet Union and the United 
States were allied against Hitler, Trumbo's Communist father, Dalton, also 
named names, secretly pointing the FBI to Hollywood figures he believed were 
suspiciously anti-war. But there was no suggestion during the press conference 
that his screenwriting Oscar be revoked. Likewise, Trumbo's intellectual fellow 
travelers in academe and journalism have built entire careers on denouncing 
spying by the FBI and CIA but are blithely unconcerned about KGB espionage. The 
standard excuse, as Ellen Schrecker has written several thousand times, is that 
"McCarthyism did more damage to the Constitution than the American Communist 
Party ever did."

If that's true, it's not for want of trying by the CPUSA. If Franklin Roosevelt 
had died just nine or 10 months earlier, his third-term vice president, 
Communist sympathizer Henry Wallace, would have become president. Wallace once 
said that if he were president he would appoint Harry Dexter White treasury 
secretary and Laurence Duggan secretary of state. Both of them, we now know 
unambiguously from Venona cables, were Soviet spies.

More broadly, people like Schrecker can't or won't understand that their 
culture of denial is what created McCarthyism. It was the palpable indifference 
of the Roosevelt and Truman administrations toward Communist penetration of the 
American government that finally triggered the backlash led by HUAC and 
McCarthy. McCarthy's accusation that Roosevelt ushered in "20 years of treason" 
is an absurd exaggeration. But if Roosevelt didn't deserve to be executed as a 
spy, he most certainly ought to have been horsewhipped for his cavalier 
dismissal of Whittaker Chambers' accusations. As early as 1939, Chambers warned 
Roosevelt about Alger Hiss and named at least 12 other U.S. officials who would 
later be proved Soviet spies. Roosevelt airily told his aides that Chambers 
could "go fuck himself." The spies kept passing secrets to Moscow for another 
nine years, until HUAC began making noises about the case. Chambers' warning 
was only one of several by regretful spies during that period that first 
Roosevelt and then Truman ignored. Truman was so lackadaisical that the 
military code breakers working on the Venona Project kept it secret from him 
for fear word would leak back to the Soviets.

Fifty years later, the pattern is repeating itself. The character 
assassinations and lies of the die-hard defenders of American communism have 
given rise to a movement to rehabilitate McCarthy and other bully-boy 
anti-communists of the 1940s and '50s. Some efforts of this movement, such as 
George Washington University historian Arthur Herman's Joseph McCarthy: 
Reexamining the Life and Legacy of America's Most Hated Senator, are relatively 
judicious attempts to correct some of the exaggerations about McCarthy -- for 
instance, the widely repeated but totally erroneous claim that he never 
correctly identified a single Communist. Others, such as conservative 
attack-blonde Ann Coulter's Treason, attempt a radical makeover. McCarthy (who 
accused everybody from Harry Truman to George Marshall of secret Soviet 
sympathies) was actually too charitable, Coulter argues; he was too 
tenderhearted to say, as she does, that all liberals -- everybody from Lyndon 
Johnson to Tom Daschle -- are traitors at heart. "Whenever the nation is under 
attack, from within or without, liberals side with the enemy," Coulter writes. 
"This is their essence."

That's idiotic, to be sure, but no more so than American University historian 
Anna Kasten Nelson's argument that Venona isn't important because there are all 
kinds of good reasons a perfectly innocent person might be secretly passing 
microfilm to a KGB agent. (No, she doesn't list any of them.) "It is time to 
move on," she wrote recently, instead of "rehashing old debates" (because, you 
know, historians get bored with old stuff). Then there's the psychobabble 
contention of Bard College's Joel Kovel that J. Edgar Hoover hunted spies not 
because foreign espionage is against the law but because he had some previously 
undiscovered Freudian condition in which anti-communism "might be 
interchangeably a womb or anus." Writing stuff like that amounts to handing the 
Coulters of the world a loaded gun and daring them to pull the trigger. As 
somebody once said: Have you no sense of decency, Sir? 

Posted at 12:41 pm by Psychomike
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