Alexander Yessenin-Volpin
(Personal Interview)

...

 I worked … I lived then and worked but people knew about my stories and many have been interested about the behavior under interrogation and I gave them [information]. I became an advisor for people who were to be interrogated. I gave them lessons (laughs) Now I was a teacher. Anti-KGB teacher (laughs) Nothing more but just a teacher (laughs.) How not to answer their questions. I thought: that is what Russia needs. Because actual organization was possible. Sometimes they started it. And at first steps, at the very first, they are arrested and one of them would say everything about the conspiracy. As in Pushkin times, they have been heroes because they have been arrested. Then I thought they needed instruction. They should say "I don't know, I shall not say that." Just when I was in prison I too had read in a book ... I had seen a phrase, someone was arrested, "You can not ask me about anybody except myself." Normally, of course, they did just [this] When I came to Karaganda I went to the local libraries and read the Procedural Code. I read and understood many things which people have to understand - but they never read the Procedural Code. So I came to the instructions and so on and later I wrote a booklet.

And then, there was a case in 1963-1964. I was in the institution, some journalist Shatunofsky wrote a paper  about myself, he called a villain, and again a villain and he called me a liar. I called him to trial. And there was a trial. And they expelled the public, which was absolutely illegal. I said "But," of course they understood before I could say any word, but they understood what I would do next and they [allowed] nobody. But their whole trial system is based on such distortion of the law in their favor, behind closed doors. That's what they need. Well, let the doors be open. I need their doors to be open.

Then, a Russian writer called Avram Tertz, his real name was Sinyavsky, and his friend Daniel were arrested. At the time of their imprisonment I did not know them. I heard the name of Tertz but I did not know who he is, but in September 65 in mid September, September 18, Sinyavski is arrested,. What for three days later I heard that he is the same as Avraam Tertz. I didn't see [ know] Avraam Terz but that is [was] immaterial. [I thought] "O.K., they will make this trial. We have to demand publicity of the trial. The trials must be public."

… I already knew Bukovksy and other people, they had been looking for such activity and suggested: Let us demand the opening of their trial, Sinyavsky and Daniel. Maybe we cannot succeed in their liberation, we would prefer that, but let the trials be open. In this case, as in other cases, as it must be by Constitution. There is no "state secrecy" in that. Some people, most people, ironized.[were ironic.] [They said] That it was intellectual stupidity. One man, ... I don't know, but he understood the idea, he was able to understand the truth: We simply had been afraid to work actively for a case that would bring nothing immediately. Not immediately, maybe for generations. I understood that "immediately," but for generations to come that is a start. We do something noticeable. Maybe the trial will not be open - and indeed we were tried instead, though for watching  and demanding for the Constitution.

And this guy suggested to organize it, just as the day was approaching of the Soviet Day of Constitution, December the 5th of Stalin's Constitution. And we have chosen that day, me and this Nikolsky - Valerii Alekseisin Nikolsky - unfortunately he died in mid '70's, he was a young physicist. They came and there was a "meeting of publicity" as I called it, people had demonstrated to our three slogans, a hundred people.

Vladimir Bukovsky     
(To Build a Castle)

...

And so it came about that in November 1965 a number of people started distributing typewritten leaflets among their friends containing a "Citizens' Appeal." The text, calling for a mass meeting to demand a public trial for Daniel and Sinyavsky, had been composed, of course, by Alik YeseninVolpin. It ended: "You are invited to a public meeting on December 5 at 6 p.m. in the public garden in Pushkin Square, beside the poet's statue. Please invite two more citizens by showing them the text of this appeal."

Of course, there were plenty who opposed the venture. As usual, they said it was a KGB provocation designed to "flush them out," and so on. A majority, however, favored the idea, and even a pessimist like Yuri Titov said: "Aha, at last these intellectuals have come up with something sensible."

The appeal circulated through the well-tried samizdat channels that only yesterday had been circulating the poetry of Mandelstam and Pasternak and the literary anthologies. These "channels of trust" were our greatest achievement of the previous ten years, and thanks to them practically all of Moscow knew by December of the impending meeting scheduled for Constitution Day. Remembering our experiences in Mayakovsky Square, I was sure that chanting slogans was a hopeless and dangerous undertaking. Signs with slogans on them were better from every point of view, and so I arranged for several of the boys to prepare them.

At first our enthusiasm knew no bounds and the main subject of conversation in Moscow was this demonstration. But the closer it got to Constitution Day, the more pessimistic and even fearful people became-nobody knew how the enterprise would end. The regime was capable of anything. It might herd the whole lot of us into lunatic asylums, or worse. Nevertheless, whatever one thought, we were on the eve of the first free demonstration in the country since 1927.

On December 2 I had just succeeded in handing the last packet of appeals to a SMOG member in the Moskva Cinema on Mayakovsky Square, and was on my way out, when I was surrounded at the street exit by a crowd of KGB agents. For some reason, they seemed to think that I was armed and were shaking in their shoes. They crowded tightly around me from all sides, so that I didn't have time even to lift a hand, and hustled me into a waiting Volga. There was one on either side of me and one, the group leader, sitting beside the driver. "Hands on the back of the seat in front of you. Don't move and don't look around."

Ludmilla Alexeyeva 
(The Thaw Generation)

Alek Esenin-Volpin was planning a demonstration, and just about all of Moscow knew it. It was discussed at the Lenin Library smoking room. It was discussed at the university. It was discussed in kompanii. Alek's involvement was treated as a given by anyone who considered the language of the leaflets announcing the demonstration:

"Several months ago the organs of state security arrested two citizens: writers A. Sinyavsky and Yu. Daniel. There are reasons to fear violation of glasnost of the legal process. It is commonly known that violation of the law on glasnost (Article 3 of the Constitution of the USSR and Article 18 of the Criminal Procedure Code of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic) constitutes an illegal action. It is inconceivable that the work of a writer could constitute a crime against the state.

In the past, unlawful actions by the authorities have taken the lives of millions of Soviet citizens. This blood-stained past demands vigilance in the present. It is more prudent to give up one day of tranquility than to spend years suffering the con sequences of lawlessness that has not been stopped in time.

Soviet citizens have a means for resisting capricious actions of the authorities. That method is the Glasnost Meetings whose participants chant only one slogan: "WE DE-MAND GLAS-NOST FOR THE TRIAL OF (followed by the last names of the accused)!" or where the participants display a corresponding banner. Any shouts or slogans that depart from demands of strict adherence to laws must be regarded as counterproductive or, possibly, provocational and must be halted by the participants of the meeting.

During the meeting, it is essential to observe decorum. At the first demand of the authorities it is essential to inform the authorities about the purpose of the meeting, then to disband.

You are being invited to a Glasnost Meeting which will be held on December 5, at 6 P.M., on Pushkin Square, by the monument to the poet.

Invite two other citizens by means of this appeal."

The only demonstrations I was familiar with were the authorized ones held on Red Square on May Day and November 7. I did not particularly like them. I just don't have much affinity for banners and crowds. Now I was horrified by the prospect of Alek unfurling a banner on a square in the center of Moscow. Nothing like that had ever been done, so there was no way to predict the consequences.

Ada Nikolskaya was even more horrified than I. Her husband, Valera, had met Alek in our kompaniya and quickly become his apostle. That meant, he, too, was going to Pushkin Square.

Talking Valera out of the idea seemed hopeless. Talking to Alek didn't seem promising, either. He would simply say something like:

"You are very nice girls. It's too bad it's not allowed to marry several girls at once. If I could, I'd marry both of you." There was always a chance that the crazy endeavor would fall apart on its own.

But it showed no signs of falling apart. One evening in Larisa's kitchen, the conversation turned toward deciding whether she should go to the demonstration. The nays had it. Larisa could not afford to get involved in a street scene. Her mission was to monitor the forthcoming trial. The same went for Marya Sinyavskaya.

...

On December 1 it was clear that, with or without our approval, the demonstration would take place. Ada was going out of her mind. "Oh my God, they are really going to do it," she kept saying. 'There's no way to talk my fool out of it."

Alek's wife, Vika, had similar concerns. 'That fruitcake will go and get himself back in the loony bin," she lamented to Natasha and me. "What's to be done?"

On the evening of December 4, Natasha and I decided to act. Talking to Valera still seemed hopeless, so we agreed to begin with Alek.

Alek was in hiding. He wanted to avoid being arrested before the demonstration. We called one possible hideout. He wasn't there. We called another, then another. "I may be able to give him a message," was the answer we got on the fifth or sixth try.

"Please tell him to come to Lyuda's as soon as possible."

At ten o'clock that evening, Alek appeared in my room.

We hit him with all the ammunition we had. Think of what they will do to you. Think of what they will do to Valera. Think of what that would do to Ada. Do you want people to lose their jobs? Want them expelled from their institutes? Want them arrested? Do you want to be declared a fruitcake again? Do you miss the medication? How could you want so many people to give up so much just for a few narcissistic moments?

Alek fought back, reciting his leaflet. Glasnost of trials was the essential first step to a more democratic system. Yes, it was possible that all participants of the demonstration would be arrested. It would take many a trial and many a Glasnost Meeting before the Soviet system of justice would begin to function in accordance with Soviet laws. We hit him with more guilt, he fought back through recitation of his legal theories.

"Fine, girls, let's say you've talked me out of it," Alek conceded around midnight. "A demonstration will not accomplish anything. But what can I do about it now? All those people you are so concerned about are going to show up with or without me. And what if I am not there? Would that be morally right? Would that make you feel better?" It was a checkmate.

Alek said good-bye, leaving Natasha and me to consider our options.

At 5:45 PM, Ada and I got off the trolley at Pushkin Square. Since there was still time, we decided to pass by the monument and pick up some sausage at Yeliseyev's grocery store.

The minute we got off the trolley, I saw a face I recognized from the Lenin Library smoking room. I nodded. He nodded back. Then I saw a face vaguely familiar from some kompaniya. We exchanged nods. "Hello," said Ada to someone.

It seemed we were surrounded by the brotherhood that met regularly for evenings of Gershwin at the Conservatory, Fellini retrospectives at the House of Film, French-impressionists exhibits at the Pushkin Museum, and, of course, Bulat Okudzhava concerts at the Central House of Workers of the Arts. Now that brotherhood had gathered at the bronze feet of Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin to watch Aleksandr Sergeyevich Esenin-Volpin demand glasnost for the trial of their brethren.

About twenty people were milling around the monument. Most of them were much younger than we were. We crossed the road to Yeliseyev's grocery, nodding to acquaintances, but saying nothing to each other. We bought some cheese and some sausage, then met Natasha at the street corner.

It was 5:57. The snow beamed back the gaslight of the majestic Saint Petersburg streetlamps around the statue. Fresh roses lay at the pedestal. The neon sign on top of the building housing the newspaper Izvestia was lit up. The name of the paper means "news" and glasnost, as defined in Russian dictionaries, means "subject to presentation to and review by the public." News is part of glasnost. Hence, Alek had decided to hold a protest in front of a building crowned with a neon sign that was fit to be one of his banners.

The crowd of two hundred nervously clung to the pedestal. We had no problem getting to the front row. Everyone wanted to stay in the second.

Alek paced in front of the crowd. It was his prison-cell stroll; detachment in his eyes, hands behind his back, ten paces forward, ten paces back. A pendulum of glasnost.

Valera stood motionless in front of the crowd. So did Yura Titov, another of Alek's followers. I looked at my watch: 5:59. I looked at Alek: ten paces forward, ten paces back. I looked at the watch: 6:00 exactly.

Alek stopped, opened his coat, pulled out a piece of white cloth that had been strapped with a belt to his stomach, then raised the piece of cloth over his head. Valera followed. What happened next, I remember in fragments:

Twenty or so young people run past me, surrounding Alek. The banners are still up over Alek's and Valera's heads.

Another wave runs past, overpowering the first. The banners disappear before I get a chance to read them. There isn't a word from Natasha, not a word from Ada, not a sound in front of me, not a sound behind me, nothing but crisp, tense silence.

A bright flash, then another, and another. The square lights up, then, instantly, fills with the sound of camera shutters. Foreign reporters are photographing Alek, the banners, the demonstrators, the KGB, the spectators. The KGB is photographing Alek, the demonstrators, the banners, the spectators, the foreign reporters.

In the glow of photoflashes, two men drag a third past the pedestal. He is slight; they are burly; he is in a short leather jacket; they are in heavy coats. A black Volga pulls up to the curb on Gorky Street. The man is thrown into the backseat. Another Volga pulls up. Another man is thrown in.

Three minutes later, the demonstrators are gone. So are the spectators. The square is empty, except for the bronze Aleksandr Sergeyevich, arms crossed on his chest, his head bowed.

We waited at Natasha's.

Valera called first. He was taken to the militia precinct station, kept for about three hours, then let go.

Alek called next: "Eveiything is fine, girls." He, too, had been kept for about three hours, during which a militia officer asked him to explain his reasons for holding the demonstration. "To assure glasnost of the trial," Alek said.

"All our trials are open," the militia officer said, after which Alek was asked to describe the banners.

"Unfurl them," Alek said.

"GLASNOST TO THE TRIAL OF SINYAVSKY AND DANIEL," proclaimed one banner. "HONOR THE SOVIET CONSTITUTION," proclaimed the other.

A few days later, at a beer dive, Kolya Williams overheard the story of the demonstration as it had filtered down to the masses:

"Esenin has a son. He organized this demonstration of a thousand people to march on Gorky Street, with him marching in front of everyone with a banner; then he walked in to the KGB, threw a list of demonstrators on the table, and said, 'Here are the names of everyone who marched, but keep your hands off them. I answer for everyone.' He isn't afraid of anyone, blya. And his name is Wolf."                    

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