America’s China Policy Is Not Working
The Dangers of a Broad Decoupling
On January 8, 1968, in the dingy halls of the Moscow City Court, four relatively unknown young Soviet citizens went on trial for anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda. On January 12 they were convicted and sentenced to labor camp for terms ranging from one to seven years. On the same day the first of a number of petitions, appeals and protests relating to the trial and to the general issue of civil rights in the Soviet Union was signed and circulated throughout Moscow by members of the Soviet intellectual Establishment. By early April the attitudes which this documentation represented had precipitated a distinct hardening in the official cultural policy of the régime.
In the months since the trial the texts of a number of protest documents reached the West and were published in various newspapers and journals. By the end of April, at least twenty separate documents had become available, all relating to the January 8-12 trial of Aleksandr Ginzburg, Yuri Galanskov, Alexei Dobrovol'skiy and Vera Lashkova, and to the closely related detention of the mathematician Aleksandr Yesenin-Volpin. There were reports of a number of other documents circulating in the Soviet Union, but it was not clear how many of them were related to the Moscow trial rather than to other currently active sources of discontent such as the arrests of Leningrad University people during 1967, the trials and imprisonment of Ukrainian intellectuals since 1965, and the persecution of a growing number of Soviet Baptists.
Taken together, the twenty documents in hand comprise about fifty pages of typescript, legal size, in cyrillic. There are over four hundred signers, including full names and occupations. Most of the documents are dated in January or February. Addresses of the signers are given in some instances, and it is clear that an effort has been made to avoid any concealment of personal responsibility. With four exceptions-Leningrad, Novosibirsk, a collective farm in the Baltic and a small town on the Volga-all of the documents originated in Moscow. Most of the signers are resident in Moscow, About forty live in Novosibirsk, and a few each in Leningrad, Kiev, Kharkov, Magadan and other places.
The content covers violations of the law by the Soviet Court, the KGB and the police in the Ginzburg case; an appeal for redress under the Soviet Constitution; indignation at distorted reporting of the trial in the Soviet press; and a warning against a return to the arbitrary rule and oppression of Stalin's day. Most of the documents at least refer to some aspect of these themes. But the emphasis and the approach are by no means uniform. In some cases one theme or another is omitted; and in a few cases obviously arising from the position of the protestors-e.g. a document drafted by a group of witnesses whose rights as witnesses were abused by the Court- attention is focused on one subject. One of the documents relates solely to the arbitrary detention in a mental institution of Aleksandr Yesenin- Volpin, a mathematician and leading figure in the protest against the Ginzburg trial. Only one of the documents approaches the matter from the viewpoint of the Communist Party. The others, although signed in many instances by people who are party members, adopt the stance of Soviet citizens who are concerned not only for the fate of the individuals involved but also for their country.
The tone is one of reason and relative calm. The style is elevated or at least educated. The approach varies from a dry statement of principle to the use of judicious rhetoric. There is a note of firm conviction, and there are in many cases requests that the appeals be given wide publicity. But there is no demagogy. The attitude toward duly constituted authority is respectful. A few documents "protest," but most "ask," "petition" or "request."
The authenticity of the documents seems, on the whole, hard to question. Personal contact in some cases between members of the Western colony in Moscow and some of the signers, plus name checks against published biographic directories, establish the existence of a fair sample of the signers. Denunciation and, in a few cases, publication of hedged recantations provide further confirmation. So much for the actual documents.
Before describing the big and little people involved in this protest movement, some background information may be in order. Sinyavskiy and Daniel were arrested in November 1965 and tried in February 1966. The issue at this trial was literary freedom-specifically, whether the interpretation put on a writer's work by the authorities is sufficient in itself to convict the writer of anti-Soviet agitation under Article 70 of the RSFSR Criminal Code.1 This, at least, was the immediate issue. But in the background stood the larger questions of the artist's right to explore experience, his freedom of choice in literary forms, his access to the public and his right to participate in the world literary community. The issue of civil rights under the Soviet Constitution did not come up, as such.
A second aspect of the Sinyavskiy-Daniel trial is that both were respected members of the Moscow literary Establishment. Sinyavskiy, of course, is a noted literary critic. Daniel is less well known, but is none the less a reputable literary translator. Their arrest and trial were very much an Establishment affair and were obviously regarded as such by all concerned.
A third consideration is age. Sinyavskiy and Daniel, both 43, come from a generation which experienced Stalinism and the War. Their awareness of these matters is based on experience and their attitudes toward them arise from personal involvement.
None of these circumstances-literary freedom, membership in the Establishment, or age-applied directly in the next round. But the conflict with authority continued, and the unspoken, fundamental issue-the right to dissent-was the same.
In 1967 we know of two trials in Moscow arising from protest against the continued imprisonment of Sinyavskiy and Daniel. But the people involved were not members of the literary Establishment, they were not arrested for what they had written, at least nominally, and they were of quite a different generation than Sinyavskiy and Daniel. The arrests-and this is important to note-were for participation in unauthorized demonstrations, and the defense was based on an appeal to civil rights nominally guaranteed by the Soviet Constitution. The culprits were a young man named Khaustov, tried in February 1967, and another young dissident, Bukovskiy, brought to trial with his companions Kushev and Delone in September 1967. Both were charged with taking part in street demonstrations during January 1967 against the further detention of Sinyavskiy and Daniel. Bukovskiy was tried under an article of the code prohibiting, in effect, participation in genuinely spontaneous demonstrations,2 and he defended himself by citing Article 125 of the Constitution providing, inter alia, for freedom of assembly and demonstration.3 "What's the good of this right," Bukovskiy asked the judge, "if I can only demonstrate for official policies?" Under Stalin, people simply didn't ask this question. But then Bukovskiy really hadn't lived under Stalin. The judge gave him three years to think it over.
Now about this time-that is, in the fall and winter of 1967-68-something quite significant began to happen. Among the members of the Moscow intellectual Establishment an increasing measure of support began to develop for the "little people" of the intellectual underground. This can be marked, if a date is needed, by the publication in December 1967 in the world press of a letter from a Moscow physical chemist, Paul Litvinov, the grandson of the sometime Foreign Minister, describing KGB attempts to pressure him into suppressing a privately made transcript of the final plea by Bukovskiy at the September trial. This solitary act of defiance was followed in January and February 1968 by the remarkable wave of support for Ginzburg and his companions, who were the next to be tried.
Before discussing the Ginzburg trial, let us look for a minute at the "little people" who triggered this movement among the Establishment intellectuals. On a police blotter, they are not very impressive. With one exception, that of Ginzburg, who is 31, they are all in their twenties, or younger. Except for self-published works, they have not appeared in print. They are unemployed or occupied in menial jobs. They are university dropouts, expellees or rejects. Most of them have a record of involvement in unofficial, radical societal groupings-SMOG, The Ryleev Circle, etc. And most of them have taken part in genuinely spontaneous demonstrations, e.g. those at Mayakovskiy's Statue or in Pushkin
Square. Taken together, this is the basis for the officially promulgated image of these youngsters as disgruntled failures, deluded by an idealized image of the West and preyed upon by cynical emigré organizations.
One should be cautious in accepting this official Soviet image. But equally one should resist the temptation to see these youths as the martyred white knights of constitutional democracy. Their origins, motives and aims, like those of their Western counterparts, deserve the considered attention of sociologists and psychologists as well as that of political analysts.
On the record-and by that I mean what we have of their statements in court, plus their writings in such underground journals as Feniks, Sintaksis, Russkoye Slovo and others-I would say that these youngsters are primarily fledgling writers and frustrated social critics in the Russian tradition. As such, they are intent on savoring life on their own terms. Though they are critical, they do not necessarily reject the basic tenets of the society in which they live. Some of their writings could be interpreted as favoring a resort to violence to bring about changes they feel necessary. All of them seem to be undergoing a normal inclination to rebel against conventional wisdom and established authority-complicated by the problem of Stalin and what his downfall means for the legitimacy of that authority in the present Soviet context.
As positive models, they seem interested either in nineteenth-century Russian social thinkers or in what they imagine to be the liberal spirits of the West, or both. But of the two, the Russian influence is clearly the stronger. The Decembrists, notably Ryleev; the "Men of the Sixties," like Chernyshevskiy; Herzen and the later Revolutionary romantics; the early Marxists, such as Plekhanov and Lenin; and the poets of the 1920s appear repeatedly in their writings. The literary and constitutional achievements of the West, as they imagine them, have had an influence: Hemingway, for example, in writing; and in politics the social democracies of Western Europe. There is a marked admiration for romantic figures like Ché Guevara. But the trinity of the American New Left-Mills, Mailer and Marcuse-has not been mentioned in the underground journals. (Marcuse was mentioned by Pravda, however, in a May 30 article commenting on worldwide student unrest. Pravda's commentator lumped the San Diego philosopher together with Mao, the CIA, French student radical Cohn-Bendit, and The New York Times as part of a diversionary bourgeois plot to "confuse and disorient the ardent but politically inexperienced young people.")
In the West, the views of the Soviet underground writers would hardly seem grounds for expulsion from a university. And given the fact that Soviet power has now been in existence for over fifty years, one is tempted to wonder why the Soviet authorities are not prepared to regard them with a certain amount of toleration. But the evidence indicates that not only is the number of such youths in Soviet society on the rise, but that the régime's ability and readiness to cope with them by any means other than legal repression seems to be declining. Why? In partial answer, two observations about the Soviet intellectual milieu may have an immediate bearing on the problem:
The structural imbalance in the Soviet educational system, with its overwhelming emphasis on the production of natural scientists and engineers and a corresponding under-valuation of the social sciences. Given the broad intellectual infrastructure created by a good system of basic education, the result is a growing number of would-be social critics with no place to go. Such people are increasingly finding themselves misplaced in the natural sciences, like Paul Litvinov, or are publishing underground essays and sitting around on curbstones, like Yuri Galanskov, being interviewed by Western newsmen.
The overemphasis on Moscow as the center of learning and symbol of success. In the Soviet Union, if you don't make it to Moscow, you haven't "made it," particularly in the media world, the arts or in what passes for the social sciences. The result is a new class of raznochintsiy, young men who lack the connections or other qualities to enter Moscow University, but who refuse to settle for training or positions in the provinces.
These two considerations are not put forward as an all-embracing explanation of unrest among Soviet youth, but they are important elements in the situation. Moreover, they provide a significant distinction in attitudes between the "little people" involved in the present wave of dissidence and those of their Establishment supporters.
The single voice raised by Paul Litvinov in support of Bukovskiy during 1967 turned into a roar following the trial of Aleksandr Ginzburg and his companions in January 1968. All four were tried under Article 70 of the Criminal Code. Since there is no public record of the trial, or even an unofficial transcript as in the case of Sinyavskiy and Daniel, it is difficult to say what actually happened. From the information at hand, it appears that the four were arrested in January 1967 for having produced and circulated a White Book on the Sinyavskiy-Daniel trial, including sending it abroad, and for having participated in other manifestations of support for the convicted writers. The charge that their actions were anti-Soviet was buttressed by a self-incriminating confession by one of the defendants and the statements of a prosecution witness named Broks-Sokolov alleging that the four were acting in collaboration with a Frankfurt-based, anti- communist Russian emigré organization known as the Narodno-Trudovoi Soyuz (NTS). There were also related charges of speculation in foreign currency. In short, a highly questionable affair if the prosecution's case were accepted as true.
The significant aspect of the whole affair lay in the fact that an articulate segment of the Moscow intellectual Establishment was not prepared to accept the official version of the case and chose to risk their professional and personal reputations-and possibly their necks-in order to say so. Why they did so is a large question, and I will not attempt to give any definitive answer to it. But I believe that their reasons were other than those which motivated the younger people who were actually in court.
The Establishment intellectuals who protested the manner in which the intellectual underground was treated by the régime in the Ginzburg trial are scarcely the kind of people one would describe as outcasts or failures. Of the four hundred or more signers of protest documents against the Ginzburg trial and the detention of Yesenin-Volpin, virtually all were professionals.4 Roughly another hundred intellectuals (80 mathematicians and physico-mathematicians, plus 20 related scientific workers and teachers) signed the protest devoted solely to the detention of their colleague Yesenin-Volpin following his participation in the protest movement.
One of the striking things about these people is that with the exception of some forty scientists from Novosibirsk, they are almost all from Moscow. They are also almost all professional people who are either relatively well established or have got their feet onto the rungs of the ladder. They may not all be Lenin Prize Winners or be published in editions of 100,000 copies, but they are in a different class from most of their fellow citizens in a society which still has a great gulf between the rich and the poor. They are also far removed from the literary underground, whose members are neither of the Establishment nor likely to become so under present conditions.
They are not, on the other hand, quite as illustrious a group as some of the dissenters in previous years. Among those who are known to have protested in 1968 the best-known names are perhaps the writers Aksyonov, Balter, Iskander, Kazakov, Nagibin, Paustovskiy and Pilyer; the poets Antokol'skiy, Akhmadullina, Kornilov and Matveeva, and the artist Birgir. The scientists, most of whom were protesting the Yesenin-Volpin detention, include the Lenin Prize winners P. S. Novikov, I. M. Gel'fand, S. P. Novikov, I. P. Novikov and Yu. Manin. Lyudmilla Keldysh, sister of the Academy of Sciences President M. Keldysh, also was a signer.
Many of the leaders of the liberal wing in the literary Establishment were not present. Yevtushenko was on a tour of Latin America and despite numerous opportunities refrained from comment not only on the Ginzburg trial but on political themes in general Voznesenskiy had not been heard from since his scrape with the authorities in the summer of 1967 over cancellation of his trip to New York. And Solzhenitsyn, still involved in his battle with the Writers' Union over censorship, remained aloof from the case.
Also silent were the big names in science and the arts who had signed a petition to Brezhnev in the spring of 1966 against a rehabilitation of Stalin at the 23rd Party Congress. Whether these people-notably the scientists Kapitsa and Tamm, filmmaker Romm and senior ballerina Plisetskaya-were not convinced of the merits of Ginzburg and his friends, or preferred to confine their protests to questions of principle and avoid particular cases, or possibly sought to make their views known through less public channels, is not known.
In assessing the 1968 protest, it is hard to decide what significance should be attached to this silence. One's first reaction might be to conclude that the Ginzburg affair is perhaps not as important as some of the previous causes célèbres, e.g. Sinyavskiy-Daniel. In terms of the stature of the defendants, this is manifestly so. However, the area of involvement has now progressed downward and outward, with more people from a wider range of professions having committed themselves in writing to an open difference of view with the régime. Seen in this light, the absence of illustrious names at the head of the protest documents in some ways enhances rather than diminishes their significance.
The Soviet intellectual Establishment is a highly structured community. Public protest against the official line is a risky course professionally, quite aside from the matter of terror and outright physical danger. Presumably the working-level scientist or run-of-the-mill writer who becomes involved in such matters does so-unless he is a fanatic-only because he feels that his superiors share his views, at least covertly; or because he feels that somewhere up above there is an element of the political élite which will protect him; or-and this a very big or-he feels that the thing he is protesting against constitutes such a clear and present danger that all thought of the practical consequences of his act recede into the background in favor of trying to forestall the main danger- namely, a reemergence of Stalinism.
There may, however, be another, more positive motive for the protest than fear of police terror, which in the past has led the disaffected to seek cover in silence, in anonymity or lip service to ideological orthodoxy. As a working hypothesis, I would suggest that the motivation may be a growing awareness among the working levels of the Establishment that the ideological orthodoxy of the post-Khrushchev leadership has become irrelevant, both as a personal philosophy of life and as a tool to move the masses. When Stalin's body was removed from the Mausoleum it left a gap in history. It also left a gap in the Mausoleum, and the Mausoleum is what the leadership stands on, both figuratively and literally. Until that gap is filled by some credible substitute, the élite and the Establishment are in danger of repudiation by the masses. To fill the gap, there must either be a revival of earlier national values or a formulation of new values.
It is ferment of this kind that now stirs the intellectual underground. And I think it is reasonable to suppose that the members of the Establishment who are watching and supporting them are doing so as part of a search for ideas and images to fill the ideological vacuum threatening their class and their country. In other words, the motivation is not only a fear of renewed terror from above, but also an awareness of new dangers from below and a compulsion to find some positive answer to them.
This search is taking place amidst the welter of personality, power and policy differences to be found in any intellectual community. The documents themselves do not offer any clear leads to what themes are dominant. What can be said by way of generalization about the direction of the dissent is that it appears from the Moscow documents to be more reformist than revolutionary, and that it has a strong flavor of Russian nationalism. The dissenters' approach to the problems of Soviet society is one of loyalty to the Constitution and to the laws implementing it. Their complaint is that the officials conducting the Ginzburg trial acted against the law in their conduct of the trial and the investigation leading up to it. The attitude is strictly constitutional, and the appeal for redress is based upon a concept of loyalty to and support of Soviet power.
This limitation to a constitutional approach is apparently not shared by the university faculty members and other intellectuals arrested and tried in Leningrad during 1967 and early 1968. We have very little documentation, but it appears that the Lenin-graders were much more forthright in advancing ideological programs beyond the framework of purely constitutional issues. There have been allegations, which have been denied by other sources, that some of them do not reject in principle the use of violence to achieve their aims. There were also reports that some of the dissenters were found to have illegal weapons in their possession. Moreover, the charge on which they were arraigned and convicted is treason,5 which is a great deal more serious than the charges applied to the Muscovites. If one accepts these reports as more or less valid, it would seem to indicate a substantial difference of purpose and tactics.
Both dissenting groups emphasize nationalism. The Moscow protest documents also appeal in many cases to universal human rights, to the U.N. Resolution on the subject and to Soviet ratification of it. But the point of departure is a sense of traditional Russian values. This element of Russian nationalism makes one wonder how much the Moscow and Leningrad dissenters have in common with the Ukrainian intellectuals persecuted in recent years for manifestations of "bourgeois Ukrainian nationalism." The traditional Russian attitude is to scoff at the existence of a Ukrainian national culture distinct from the Russian. In the short run, the two might find a common ground, particularly if the Ukrainians, as seems to be the case, adopt the tactic of appealing to the Soviet Constitution. But in the available protest documents there is no reference to the plight of the Ukrainians. One of the Moscow documents did raise the question of national minorities, but it concerned the Crimean Tatars and the continued deprivation of their civil rights, taken from them under Stalin. One wonders why the drafters chose a relatively obscure minority, rather than the more obvious example of the Ukrainians, to make their point.
What has been the régime's attitude toward the protestors? During the Anniversary Year, the leadership tried to maintain a posture of Olympian detachment. The Pravda article of January 27, 1967, which was the only major cultural pronouncement of that year, rebuked both liberals and conservatives in the literary Establishment for their unseemly public disputes. This semblance of fine impartiality, which in fact favored the conservatives, lasted until February 1968 when the aftermath of the Ginzburg trial shattered the calm in a spectacular manner. In the months that followed, the official attitude toward any manifestation of ideological nonconformity hardened appreciably.
The new policy line triggered by the Ginzburg affair was both xenophobic and militantly orthodox. On February 14 Kosygin spoke in Minsk, and on the following day Brezhnev gave an address in Leningrad. Both leaders included statements on cultural affairs and their lines were almost identical. Both recognized a malaise in Soviet society and both ascribed it to evil influences from abroad acting upon politically immature elements. Its essence, they claimed, is nationalist and revisionist. Its cure, as prescribed by the two leaders, amounts to a strong dose of fundamentalist doctrine administered through improved agitation and propaganda. The responsibility, both made clear, lies not only on the party apparatus but on all Soviet organizations and individual citizens.
The "foreign devil" line was restated and amplified in Pravda articles on March 3 and March 14, and was repeated with appropriate embellishments by Brezhnev in a major speech on March 29. Any doubts which may have existed about unity within the party apparatus on this new policy were removed on April 10 when the Central Committee Plenum published a resolution restating the Brezhnev-Kosygin line in unmistakable terms.
Practical measures to back up these pronouncements were applied promptly by the KGB and the party apparatus. Warnings were issued to Western correspondents against further contact with the dissenters. Party members who signed the protests were attacked in their local party organizations for ideological deviations, and in some cases were expelled. Pressure was applied through places of employment to make some protestors issue recantations. And in some cases, notably that of the mathematicians Lyudmilla Keldysh and her husband, planned trips abroad were canceled on short notice. But the harassment did not extend to the arbitrary use of police power. With the exception of Yesenin-Volpin, who was confined for a time in a mental institution, there were-so far as we know-no arbitrary arrests.
In comparing the content of the protest movement with the régime's reaction to it, one is struck by two things: both sides seem preoccupied by nationalism, and both seem intent on stressing legality as a means to achieve their aims. The difference is over the right of dissent under the Soviet Constitution.
Just before and just after the Ginzburg trial, articles were published in the Soviet central press by two eminent jurists discussing in general terms the merits of socialist legality. Neither mentioned the trial. But the intent was clear: the suppression of underground intellectuals was not to be interpreted by lower level officials as a mandate to dispense with legal formalities in coping with dissent. And despite some appearances to the contrary, a case could be made for the legality of the government's position in the Ginzburg case.
But to argue that Ginzburg's conviction was legal means arguing, in effect, that the great legal reforms of 1958 and after do not mean progress away from authoritarian rule and toward Western concepts of civil liberties. On the contrary, the effect of the emphasis on legality is to make easier the codification and rationalization of power by an orthodox and conservative oligarchy. In other words, the trend is toward authority, but not toward arbitrariness. The leadership is to provide justice, by its standards, without permitting dissent or other manifestations of democracy.
The Moscow protest reveals that this policy of creeping, legalistic reaction has stirred a widening pattern of resentment and concern among the intellectuals. With the Ginzburg affair, dissent ceased to be a family dispute over literary freedom within the upper levels of the literary community and became instead a question of constitutional principles and law affecting the entire society. This broadening of the framework of dissent, and a corresponding expansion of the constituency from which it draws support, marked an important qualitative change in the relations between the Soviet leaders and the people.
Seen in retrospect, the Soviet reaction to liberalization in Czechoslovakia appears consistent with events in Moscow. What the Soviet leaders were unwilling to accept at home they were unwilling to accept in their European domain. In both instances, they were faced with the ultimate dilemma of their system-the choice between recognizing the right to dissent or of putting down dissent by an application of force without constitutional or genuine legal justification. In Czechoslovakia they chose force; at home a policy of deepening legalistic repression has postponed a firm choice. 1 "Agitation or propaganda carried out for the purpose of weakening Soviet power or for the accomplishment of individual, especially dangerous state crimes, the dissemination for the same purpose of slanderous falsifications defaming the Soviet state and social structure, as well as the dissemination, preparation or retention for the same purpose of writings having such content-Punished by deprivation of freedom for six months to seven years plus deportation for two to five years or without deportation, or by deportation for two to five years. "The same activity carried out by persons previously condemned for especially dangerous state crimes, as well as commitment in time of war- Punished by deprivation of freedom for three to ten years plus deportation for two to five years, or without deportation." V. S. Zhuravleva and Yu.I. Lukina, eds. "Ugolovniy Kodeks RSFSR." Yurizdat. Moskva, 1968. 2 Article 190/III. "The organization or participation in group action attended by obvious disobedience to legal demands by representatives of authority or which involves violation of the works of transport, state or social institutions or enterprises." Ibid., p. 68. 3 "In conformity with the interests of the working people, and in order to strengthen the socialist system, the citizens of the USSR are guaranteed by law: (a) freedom of speech; (b) freedom of the press; (c) freedom of assembly, including the holding of mass meetings; (d) freedom of street processions and demonstrations. These civil rights are ensured by placing at the disposal of the working people and their organizations printing presses, stocks of paper, public buildings, the streets, communications facilities and other material requisites for the exercise of these rights." Konstitutsiya SSSR. GOSYURIZDAT. Moskva, 1960, p. 27. 4 A rough breakdown shows: 34 civil engineers; 24 physico-mathematicians; 23 philologists; 20 writers; 17 mathematicians; 17 teachers; 15 scientific researchers; 13 undergraduate students; 10 literary critics; 10 historians; 9 editors; 9 graduate students; 8 physicists; 8 philosophers; 7 economists; 7 translators; 7 linguists; 6 art critics; 6 geologists; 6 poets; 4 biologists; 4 technicians; 3 university instructors; 3 librarians; 3 bibliographers; 3 architects; 3 chemists; 3 pedagogues; 3 factory workers; 2 journalists; 2 jurists; 2 medical doctors; 2 chemical engineers; 2 theatrical directors; 1 religious writer; 1 film writer; 1 radio journalist; 1 radio editor; 1 actor; 1 musician; 1 pianist; 1 geographer; 1 geophysicist; 1 sociologist; 1 medical student; 1 bookseller; 1 stenographer; 1 pensioner; 1 electrician; 1 housewife; 1 ex-army officer (major-general); and 1 Kolkhoz director. 5 "Treason: that is, an act intentionally committed by a citizen of the U.S.S.R. which is damaging to the state independence, territorial inviolability, or military power of the U.S.S.R.; defection to the enemy, espionage, communicating a state or military secret to a foreign state, flight to a foreign country or refusal to return from a foreign country to the U.S.S.R., assisting a foreign country in carrying on hostile activity against the U.S.S R., or plotting with a view to seizing power-shall be punished by deprivation of freedom for a period of from ten to fifteen years, with confiscation of property, or death with confiscation of property." Zhuravleva and Lukina, op. cit., p. 31.