Moldova, the Latvian Purges and Khrushchev’s Generational Struggle, 1958–1962

Abstract

Historians of the Soviet Union have increasingly turned their attention to the seemingly quiet years of 1958–1962. Turnover in top leadership within the republics has long been noted, but the causes of these changes and their extent are still not precisely known. This study examines turnover rates for each of the republic central committees, then uses Moldova and Latvia as case studies. We conclude that the root cause of the change was a desire to replace the older generation. The targeting of nationalists, the more usual explanation, was in fact a rearguard action by the old guard, which slowed but did not stop the shift.

Of all the never-ending leadership struggles in the Soviet Union, it seems that the years 1958–1962 are often overlooked. While the toppling of Nikita Khrushchev was still several years off, change was brewing in distant regions. Historians going back to at least 1991 have noticed dramatic changes in the Party during the 1958–1962 period, including breaks in republic leadership. Gerhard Simon’s Nationalism and Policy Toward the Nationalities in the Soviet Union is one such work (Simon 1991).¹ Some of the overt purges in places such as Latvia and Azerbaijan have been studied individually and in depth, including by one of the co-authors. In other republics, such as Moldova, the issue is less clear. Because Simon’s research studied the Soviet Union broadly, and because it was written before the Soviet archives became widely accessible to the West, his work lacks depth and is based on imperfect evidence. Simon notes the comings and goings of first secretaries. Then, in Moldova and in other Soviet republics, he infers political reasons for their departure.

In recent years, historians such as Michael Loader have already begun the process of improving upon Simon’s work by delving deep into the Latvian purges of 1959, while at the same time linking the actions of 1958–1962 to other Soviet republics (Loader 2017a, 2018, 2022b). Likewise, Saulius Grybkauskas’ important study on second secretaries analyses the complex relationship between the centre and republics (2020). This work continues the process of correcting issues with Simon by looking at two republics, Latvia and Moldova, in-depth and comparatively during the 1958–1962 period, but at the same time placing the leadership changes noted by Simon into an All-Union context. This approach allows us to identify differences, similarities and possible Moscow connections. Moreover, where past studies have focused on top leadership, this article assesses the depth of change down to rank-and-file Party members in each republic by identifying patterns at the central committee (tsentral’nye komitety—CC) level. Only then can we hope to get a sense of the magnitude. In this way, we can make more informed assessments as to the reasons behind the dramatic turnover in regional leadership and what was happening behind the scenes in Moscow under Khrushchev. A previous study of Latvia by one of the authors (Prigge 2015), argued that the purge was carried out against Khrushchev’s wishes, by Arvīds Pelše and his brother-in-law, Mikhail Suslov, rather than by Khrushchev, which used to be the conventional wisdom among historians (Widmer 1969, p. 545; Misiunas & Taagepera 1993, p. 143; Plakans 1995, pp. 157, 159). Further, the book asserted that the purge of national communists (Nationālkomunisti) meant the loss of powerful allies for Khrushchev. Suslov, the Kremlin’s chief ideologue and a senior member of the Presidium, would later go on to arguably play the lead role in Khrushchev’s own demise (Prigge 2015, pp. 123–27). Michael Loader’s study goes much further in connecting events in Latvia to other republics, identifying three figures in particular: Mikhail Suslov, Aleksandr Shelepin and Vladimir Semichastny (Loader 2022b). The instrument of these purges, according to Loader, was the commonly neglected Party Organs Department for the Union Republics (Otdel partiinykh organov po soyuznym respublikam, hereafter the Party Organs Department): ‘Between December 1958 and May 1961, an alliance of Kremlin hardliners and their handpicked regional elites in the republics became the architects of a wave of purges across the Soviet republics, conducted by the Department’ (Loader 2022b, p. 16). The primary motivation was to ‘reimpose order’, particularly regarding nationalism in the periphery, but decapitating regional leadership also benefited them by undermining Khrushchev. Shelepin and Semichastny were famously linked through leadership, first in the Komsomol (Vsesoyuznyi Leninskii kommunisticheskii soyuz molodezhi), then in the Party Organs Department, and finally in the KGB (Komitet gosudarstvennoi bezopasnosti). Loader asserted that their partnership with Suslov was not one of active cooperation; rather, ‘they were ideologically on the same team in this operation’ (Loader 2022b, p. 18).

This study offers a refinement of Loader’s argument. First, while leadership turnover based on nationalism may appear as an anti-nationalist campaign, this does not offer the best explanation for the depth of the changes, at least not in the case of Moldova. Instead, a generational shift seems to be the more important driving force in the evidence found in the course of our research. Generations cannot be neatly defined, but the negative stereotype of the old guard suggests the following: an exclusive ‘old boys’ club’, forged through wartime experience; possible complicity in Stalin’s crimes; and finally, a lower level of education, dynamism and innovativeness. Of course, many of the younger generation, such as Berklavs and Shelepin, had also become acquainted during the war. And, despite Khrushchev’s 1956 ‘Secret Speech’ that laid bare Stalin’s past deeds, it would be naïve to think that Khrushchev had entirely clean hands himself. Education levels did rise dramatically in the years after the war, and at least from the standpoint of the Latvian national communists, figures such as Berklavs immediately challenged Party norms. The Secret Speech was Khrushchev’s opening salvo against the old guard. However, this group could not simply be removed. The Anti-Party Purge (1957), which targeted members of the old guard and further solidified Khrushchev’s hold on power, still relied heavily upon members of the older generation, such as Mikhail Suslov. Ideologically speaking, Shelepin and Semichastny were true believers in Khrushchev’s desire to breathe new life into the Party through younger leadership and were eager to carry out that change, which put all three of them at odds with Suslov. Regarding nationalism, the Moldovan case study suggests that Shelepin was eager to court national minorities for leadership positions. Despite this, neither Shelepin nor Semichastny tolerated blatant nationalism to the same degree as Khrushchev. While Semichastny participated in the purges of national communists within Latvia and Azerbaijan, his actions do not represent so much a hardline stance as much as a young, inexperienced leader attempting to cope with what was clearly unacceptable behaviour by Marxist standards. Thus, not only did Khrushchev lose powerful allies with the removal of these younger Party leaders in Latvia, so too did Shelepin and Semichastny. Semichastny was demoted from the Party Organs Department in August 1959, only five months after taking the helm (Semichastnyi 2002, p. 45).

This study relies on a blend of evidence, including statistics, stenographic records of republican-level politburos and central committee meetings, memoirs, interviews, anonymous letters written to Moscow, and Moscow’s response. While the stenographic records and memoirs largely speak for themselves, the other sources require some explanation. The statistics gathered on election results are meant to gauge turnover rates, with the goal of determining whether there was any cleansing of the Party. This was done for first secretaries, republican-level politburos and central committees in each republic. In this article, we focus on central committees because studies have already been conducted on first secretary turnover; however, analysing changes to the whole central committee gives us a better sense of the extent of the changes. For anonymous letters, while their view is necessarily partial, we understand them as a potent weapon of delegitimisation. In this way, the image that the writer attempted to convey is as important as any factual evidence. The same applies to interviews. As much as we are seeking a true account, perspectives, emotions and impressions are just as important, providing an alternative view to that of stenograms and statistics. With interviews, while dates, chronology and details may become confused with age, impressions remain vivid and durable. The truer understanding (as much as we can know it) is ultimately found by triangulating the multiple types of evidence.

Elections in the republics

This research looked at election results in the republican central committees from 1958 to 1980. The reasons for membership changes are not known. In some, the explanation may be as simple as a temporary relocation and the Party member reappears in a subsequent election. In other cases, we know that a particular member was purged. Regardless, a spike in turnover rates is indicative of a non-routine event. This study gives turnover rates as a percentage of the total, so that very small and very large republics can be compared side by side. Table 1 shows the percentage of Party members who did not return at any given election, which by itself is not useful. However, when averaged by year, Table 2 lets us see vivid differences, particularly when contrasting the early 1960s to other periods. Finally, Table 3 gives a five-year average for the years 1959–1963, so that a dramatic single-year spike in one republic does not obscure a more significant multiyear turnover in another.

TABLE 1 Election Years for Central Committees, 1958–1981. Percentage of Members Not Returning

Country	1958	1960	1961	1963/1964	1966	1971	1976	1981
Azerbaijan^i	32	42	49	56	34	54	45	44
Uzbekistan^ii	No election	41	42	No election	62	40	45	37
Kazakhstan^iii	No election	52	41	No election	54	46	48	45
Estonia^iv	23	24	40	45	48	41	41	37
Kyrgyzstan^v	33	42	39	45	38	41	38	36
Moldova^vi	24	36	39	51	38	32	38	37
Turkmenistan^vii	22	40	39	48	25	42	47	48
Tajikistan^viii	19	20	38	25	25	30	34	–
Latvia^ix	26	33	34	44	26	41	33	32
Lithuania^x	18	30	34	47	24	38	30	42
Georgia^xi	25	20	33	39	44	47	69	40
Byelorussia^xii	No election	64	26	No election	44	50	50	38
Armenia^xiii*	18	–	41	47	21	29	55	45
Ukraine^xiv	No election	30	20	No election	39	31	32	30

Notes: *1960 results were not listed, which may skew Armenia’s averages.

Sources: ⁱ Bakinskii rabochii: 28 January 1956; 31 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 10 September 1961; 11 January 1964; 27 February 1966; 13 March 1971; 31 January 1976; 31 January 1981.

ⁱⁱ Pravda Vostoka: 29 January 1956; 13 February 1960; 28 September 1961; 6 March 1966; 5 March 1971; 6 February 1976; 6 February 1981.

ⁱⁱⁱ Kazakhstanskaya pravda: 28 January 1956; 13 March 1960; 30 September 1961; 13 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 7 February 1976; 7 February 1981.

^iv Sovetskaya Estoniya: 21 January 1956; 1 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 8 January 1964; 4 March 1966; 20 February 1971; 31 January 1976; 31 January 1981.

^v Sovetskaya Kirgiziya: 28 January 1956; 24 March 1958; 28 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 29 December 1963; 5 December 1966; 6 March 1971; 19 January 1976; 23 January 1981.

^vi Sovetskaya Moldaviya: 29 January 1956; 24 January 1958; 25 January 1960; 29 September 1961; 27 December 1963; 3 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 1 February 1976; 25 January 1981.

^vii Turkmenskaya Iskra: 24 January 1956; 21 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 15 September 1961; 26 February 1966; 25 January 1976; 18 January 1981.

^viii Kommunist Tadzhikistana: 31 January 1956; 17 January 1958; 7 February 1960; 24 September 1961; 27 December 1963; 4 March 1966; 20 February 1971; 30 January 1976; 24 January 1981.

^ix Sovetskaya Latviya: 20 January 1956; 25 January 1958; 18 February 1960; 28 September 1961; 26 December 1963; 4 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 23 January 1976; 30 January 1980.

^x Sovetskaya Litva: 29 January 1956; 16 February 1958; 4 March 1960; 1 October 1961; 12 January 1964; 6 March 1966; 6 March 1971; 23 January 1976; 30 January 1981.

^xi Zarya Vostoka: 22 January 1956; 30 January 1958; 27 January 1960; 30 September 1961; 5 March 1966; 25 January 1976; 25 January 1981.

^xii Sovetskaya Belorussiya: 28 January 1956; 29 September 1961; 6 March 1966; 25 February 1971; 7 February 1976; 30 January 1981.

^xiii Kommunist: 22 January 1956; 28 January 1958; 24 September 1961; 9 January 1964; 6 March 1966; 23 January 1976; 24 January 1981.

^xiv Pravda Ukrainy: 22 January 1956; 20 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 19 March 1966; 21 March 1971; 14 February 1976; 13 February 1981.

TABLE 2 Central Committee Election Results. Percentage Not Returning if Averaged by Year, 1957–1971

Country	1957	1958	1959	1960	1961	1962	1963	1964	1965	1966	1967	1968	1969	1970	1971
Azerbaijan^i	16	16	21	21	49	28	28	11	11	11	11	11	11	11	11
Uzbekistan^ii	10	10	10	10	42	12	12	12	12	12	8	8	8	8	8
Kazakhstan^iii	13	13	13	13	41	11	11	11	11	11	9	9	9	9	9
Estonia^iv	12	12	12	12	40	23	23	16	16	16	8	8	8	8	8
Kyrgyzstan^v	17	17	21	21	39	23	23	13	13	13	8	8	8	8	8
Moldova^vi	12	12	18	18	39	26	26	13	13	13	5	5	5	5	5
Turkmenistan^vii	11	11	20	20	39	24	24	8	8	8	8	8	8	8	9
Tajikistan^viii	10	10	10	10	38	13	13	18	18	18	6	6	6	6	6
Latvia^ix	13	13	17	17	34	22	22	9	9	9	8	8	8	8	8
Lithuania^x	9	9	15	15	34	24	24	8	8	8	8	8	8	8	8
Georgia^xi	13	13	10	10	33	20	20	13	13	13	9	9	9	9	9
Byelorussia^xii	16	16	16	16	26	9	9	9	9	9	10	10	10	10	10
Armenia^xiii	9	9	14	14	14	24	24	7	7	7	6	6	6	6	6
Ukraine^xiv	8	8	8	8	20	8	8	8	8	8	6	6	6	6	6

Notes: In bold, year of highest percentage not returning.

Sources: ⁱ Bakinskii rabochii: 28 January 1956; 31 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 10 September 1961; 11 January 1964; 27 February 1966; 13 March 1971; 31 January 1976; 31 January 1981.

ⁱⁱ Pravda Vostoka: 29 January 1956; 13 February 1960; 28 September 1961; 6 March 1966; 5 March 1971; 6 February 1976; 6 February 1981.

ⁱⁱⁱ Kazakhstanskaya pravda: 28 January 1956; 13 March 1960; 30 September 1961; 13 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 7 February 1976; 7 February 1981.

^iv Sovetskaya Estoniya: 21 January 1956; 1 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 8 January 1964; 4 March 1966; 20 February 1971; 31 January 1976; 31 January 1981.

^v Sovetskaya Kirgiziya: 28 January 1956; 24 March 1958; 28 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 29 December 1963; 5 December 1966; 6 March 1971; 19 January 1976; 23 January 1981.

^vi Sovetskaya Moldaviya: 29 January 1956; 24 January 1958; 25 January 1960; 29 September 1961; 27 December 1963; 3 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 1 February 1976; 25 January 1981.

^vii Turkmenskaya Iskra: 24 January 1956; 21 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 15 September 1961; 26 February 1966; 25 January 1976; 18 January 1981.

^viii Kommunist Tadzhikistana: 31 January 1956; 17 January 1958; 7 February 1960; 24 September 1961; 27 December 1963; 4 March 1966; 20 February 1971; 30 January 1976; 24 January 1981.

^ix Sovetskaya Latviya: 20 January 1956; 25 January 1958; 18 February 1960; 28 September 1961; 26 December 1963; 4 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 23 January 1976; 30 January 1980.

^x Sovetskaya Litva: 29 January 1956; 16 February 1958; 4 March 1960; 1 October 1961; 12 January 1964; 6 March 1966; 6 March 1971; 23 January 1976; 30 January 1981.

^xi Zarya Vostoka: 22 January 1956; 30 January 1958; 27 January 1960; 30 September 1961; 5 March 1966; 25 January 1976; 25 January 1981.

^xii Sovetskaya Belorussiya: 28 January 1956; 29 September 1961; 6 March 1966; 25 February 1971; 7 February 1976; 30 January 1981.

^xiii Kommunist: 22 January 1956; 28 January 1958; 24 September 1961; 9 January 1964; 6 March 1966; 23 January 1976; 24 January 1981.

^xiv Pravda Ukrainy: 22 January 1956; 20 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 19 March 1966; 21 March 1971; 14 February 1976; 13 February 1981.

TABLE 3 Central Committee Election Results. Percentage Not Returning if Averaged Over Five Years, 1959–1963

Country	%
Azerbaijan^i	29.4
Kyrgyzstan^ii	25.4
Moldova^iii	25.4
Turkmenistan^iv	25.4
Latvia^v	22.4
Lithuania^vi	22.4
Estonia^vii	22
Georgia^viii	18.6
Armenia^ix	18.0
Kazakhstan^x	17.8
Uzbekistan^xi	17.2
Tajikistan^xii	16.8
Byelorussia^xiii	15.2
Ukraine^xiv	10.4

Sources: ⁱ Bakinskii rabochii: 28 January 1956; 31 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 10 September 1961; 11 January 1964; 27 February 1966; 13 March 1971; 31 January 1976; 31 January 1981.

ⁱⁱ Sovetskaya Kirgiziya: 28 January 1956; 24 March 1958; 28 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 29 December 1963; 5 December 1966; 6 March 1971; 19 January 1976; 23 January 1981.

ⁱⁱⁱ Sovetskaya Moldaviya: 29 January 1956; 24 January 1958; 25 January 1960; 29 September 1961; 27 December 1963; 3 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 1 February 1976; 25 January 1981.

^iv Turkmenskaya Iskra: 24 January 1956; 21 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 15 September 1961; 26 February 1966; 25 January 1976; 18 January 1981.

^v Sovetskaya Latviya: 20 January 1956; 25 January 1958; 18 February 1960; 28 September 1961; 26 December 1963; 4 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 23 January 1976; 30 January 1980

^vi Sovetskaya Litva: 29 January 1956; 16 February 1958; 4 March 1960; 1 October 1961; 12 January 1964; 6 March 1966; 6 March 1971; 23 January 1976; 30 January 1981.

^vii Sovetskaya Estoniya: 21 January 1956; 1 January 1958; 19 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 8 January 1964; 4 March 1966; 20 February 1971; 31 January 1976; 31 January 1981

^viii Zarya Vostoka: 22 January 1956; 30 January 1958; 27 January 1960; 30 September 1961; 5 March 1966; 25 January 1976; 25 January 1981.

^ix Kommunist: 22 January 1956; 28 January 1958; 24 September 1961; 9 January 1964; 6 March 1966; 23 January 1976; 24 January 1981.

^x Kazakhstanskaya pravda: 28 January 1956; 13 March 1960; 30 September 1961; 13 March 1966; 27 February 1971; 7 February 1976; 7 February 1981.

^xi Pravda Vostoka: 29 January 1956; 13 February 1960; 28 September 1961; 6 March 1966; 5 March 1971; 6 February 1976; 6 February 1981.

^xii Kommunist Tadzhikistana: 31 January 1956; 17 January 1958; 7 February 1960; 24 September 1961; 27 December 1963; 4 March 1966; 20 February 1971; 30 January 1976; 24 January 1981.

^xiii Sovetskaya Belorussiya: 28 January 1956; 29 September 1961; 6 March 1966; 25 February 1971; 7 February 1976; 30 January 1981.

^xiv Pravda Ukrainy: 22 January 1956; 20 February 1960; 1 October 1961; 19 March 1966; 21 March 1971; 14 February 1976; 13 February 1981.

The data show that the rates for 1959–1963 were two to three times higher than in later periods, and five to six times higher if compared to the year 1961 alone. The fact that these rates occur in the larger central committees (about 90–150 members on average) rather than just the republican-level politburos (about 10–13 members) means the changes went much deeper than a leadership shakeup. In all the ways we can understand the data, Azerbaijan stands out, which suggests there was more going on than simply a generational shift. What is remarkable, though, is the degree of uniformity among the other republics, especially when averaged over five years. Uniformly high turnover in the early 1960s was followed by uniform decline by the mid-1960s. Even Ukraine, which had the smallest spike of any republic, still experienced more than three times its usual turnover rate in 1961. What is even stranger is that Latvia, where a known purge of nationalists took place, is remarkable for how unremarkable its turnover rates were. It ranks below Moldova in Table 2, and even more so when averaged over five years. In fact, the three Baltic republics are indistinguishable from one another for the five-year average. Clearly, something was happening Union-wide in the early 1960s, regardless of nationalist tensions.

The study will now turn to a closer examination of the two republics to see whether they provide clues.

Case studies: a comparison of Latvia and Moldova

Latvia and Moldova are useful comparisons: they were both republics of the Western borderlands. They both had leadership turnover in the 1958–1962 period. They both had issues of nationalism. Before examining them more closely, a few paragraphs on their histories are in order. Bessarabian Moldova, between the right bank of the Dniester and the left bank of the Prut River, had once been a part of the Russian Empire from 1812 until the end of World War I. The majority (excluding the Turkic-speaking Gagauz in southern Bessarabia) spoke a slightly older form of Romanian with more loan-words from Russian. With the collapse of the tsarist armies of Russia and the advance of the Bolsheviks, Bessarabian Moldova voted to join Greater Romania in 1918 and began a process of integration with Romanian culture and society. As the Bolsheviks consolidated power on the left bank of the Dniester, a plurality of the population along that bank of the river and to the south was also Romanian-speaking, along with Ukrainians, Russians, Jews and Bulgarians, among others. In an attempt to discredit Greater Romania, the Soviet Union formed the Moldavian Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic (Republica Autonomă Sovietică Socialistă Moldovenească—MASSR) in 1924 as an autonomous region within the Ukrainian SSR. The purpose was to highlight Moldavian national identity as something separate and distinct from Romanian. That is, to imply that Moldavians in Bessarabia lived as an oppressed minority within a Romanian multi-ethnic empire, where true national self-determination was to be had by joining with MASSR (Martin 2001, pp. 36, 274–75).² Fifteen years later, the Soviet–Nazi (Molotov–Ribbentrop) Non-Aggression Pact of 1939 called for Bessarabia to be placed under the Soviet sphere of influence (Watson 2002, p. 58). It was permanently joined to MASSR as the Moldavian SSR with the Soviet victory in 1944–1945 over Nazi Germany and its ally, Romania.

Romania became communist after its defeat. Romania, unlike Moldova, remained an independent state with its own military and foreign policy. Fears of irredentism by a Romania that had lost Bessarabia to the Soviet Union, together with a Bessarabian population potentially sympathetic to Romania, haunted the Soviet government long after World War II. Under Nicolae Ceaușescu in the 1960s, Romania began openly challenging the Soviet leadership on issues such as the 1968 invasion of Czechoslovakia, as well as the question of Bessarabia. Mao Tse-tung himself played on this touchy subject when he referred to the annexation of Bessarabia as an example of Soviet expansionism, which quickly drew a harsh response from Moscow (King 2000, pp. 105–6) and portended Romania’s further drift from the Soviet orbit towards China. It is worth reminding the reader that the Soviet Union and China had an undeclared shooting war in the late 1960s (Goldstein 2001, pp. 986–87). Little wonder, then, that the pro-Romanian tendencies of Bessarabians provoked such paranoia from Soviet leadership.

Latvia, like Bessarabia, had been under tsarist Russian rule. It existed as an independent state during the interwar years until the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact forcibly brought it back within the ambit of empire, this time the Soviet Union. In both cases after 1944, it was perceived that a large proportion of the local population had exhibited strongly anti-Soviet sentiments during World War II (King 2000, p. 96; Strods & Kott 2002, pp. 4, 9). Within each republic, the ethnic Latvians and Moldovans existed in at least two different camps: those who were Russified, and those who had only recently fallen under occupation and were therefore more suspect in the eyes of the Soviet authorities. Russified Latvians were those Party members who had fled to Russia as the Baltics fell to Germany during World War I and remained there until Stalin directed them to return to Latvia in 1940. In Moldova, those considered Russified came from the MASSR on the left bank of the Dniester, the so-called Left Bankers (de pe malul stâng/pejorative—șantiști). Party members who lived in interwar Bessarabia were called Right Bankers (de pe malul drept), and Party members who lived in interwar Latvia, generally comprised the national communists.

The indigenous Latvian national communists were prized by the Party for legitimising naked Soviet occupation. They were also rare, perhaps only a few hundred (Trapāns 1963, p. 18; Widmer 1969, p. 102). That fact, combined with the energy and talent of the younger generation, set them apart from the other two groups and gave them tremendous leverage with the Kremlin. Latvian national communists reached the heights of leadership within the republic because Moscow eagerly promoted them. The first secretary came from among Russified Latvians and the second secretary, traditionally non-Latvians (Grybkauskas 2020, p. 20). By 1956, the national communists began to dominate the republican-level politburos. Histories of Latvia published in the immediate postcommunist period frequently added quotation marks around the term used against them, ‘bourgeois nationalism’, suggesting the label was unjustified (Krūmiņš 1990a, p. 87; Misiunas & Taagepera 1993, p. 145; Pelkans et al. 1999, p. 368). The reality, though, was that central leadership indulged them, despite their overt nationalism in a Marxist context. The most inflammatory action by indigenous communists included a language policy requiring non-Latvians to learn the local language in two years or risk losing one’s job, as well as restrictions on migration to Rīga, designed to restrict the inflow of non-Latvian workers from other republics. By 1958, Khrushchev had even permitted a national communist, Vilis Krūmiņš, to serve as second secretary, after the previous incumbent (a non-local, as usual) was given a vote of no confidence in January 1958. With that, the Latvian national communists pursued their agenda, indifferent to the eyebrows being raised in Moscow. When they were purged in July 1959, it came as a surprise to no one (Prigge 2015, pp. 51–9; Loader 2017a, 2017b).

There were, though, key differences between the Latvian and Moldovan national communists. While the Latvian national communists began to populate the republic’s upper leadership ranks, it would take until the early 1960s before Moldova promoted its first Bessarabian. According to Bruchis, Moscow was deeply suspicious of Bessarabians and did not accept into the Communist Party anyone who remained in that territory after the retreat of the Red Army in July 1941 (Bruchis 1984, pp. 4–5). It is certainly plausible that the new Soviet government would have a uniquely discriminatory approach to Bessarabian recruitment. Latvia did not have a potential patron state the way Bessarabia had Romania. Both Russia and Romania had claims on the territory, whether linguistic, ethnic or historical.

However, if there was a discriminatory policy, it soon changed early in 1946 when a vigorous policy of Bessarabianisation came into effect. It was noted at the July 1946 All-Union Central Committee meeting that there was ‘an insignificant number of communists of the indigenous nationality, which is inadequate to the task of broadening the Party’s ties with the masses’ (Bruchis 1984, p. 5). Moldovan First Secretary Nikolai Coval subsequently announced at the October CC plenum that he sought ‘more workers, kolkhozniks, poor peasants and peasants of average means, and representatives of the Soviet intelligentsia, especially from among the Moldavians’ (Bruchis 1984, p. 72). This push for Moldovans was emphasised again in July 1950 by incoming first secretary, Leonid Brezhnev (Bruchis 1984, p. 72). Could it be that the Bessarabians were simply not interested in joining the Party, a problem readily acknowledged by national communists in Latvia (Berklavs 1959)?

A final reason as to why western borderland republics had such different experiences may lie with the fact that it is unrealistic to expect the emergence of the same type of leadership clique in Moldova as in Latvia. Only a few hundred local Latvians were recruited in total. Those few were then galvanised by a uniquely charismatic and effective leader, Eduards Berklavs. Without Berklavs, it is easy to imagine a completely different scenario. Luck was a crucial factor. A Bessarabian clique, with the same organisation, numbers and leadership simply did not exist, except in a limited way, within the arts and education. To provide a theoretical framework for understanding the role of agency among individual leaders, we will turn at the end of this article to the concept of ‘structuration’, developed by the British sociologist Anthony Giddens.

Impact of the Latvian purges: the end of Bessarabianisation in Moldova

Moldova, like Latvia, had true manifestations of nationalism that were clearly problematic for any Soviet leader. Bessarabians came to dominate the Writers’ Union. Another enclave of nationalist sentiment was in higher education, particularly in the pedagogical institutes. The agenda of the September 1959 Moldovan Communist Party (Partidul Comunist al Moldovei—MCP) CC plenum was in direct response to the purges in Latvia. Among the topics of discussion was whether Moldovan was a distinct, unique language or basically Romanian: the official Soviet line was that the Moldovan language was distinct and separate from Romanian, in the same way that the two political entities were distinct and separate. Also discussed was the unhealthy tendency among the pro-Romanian intelligentsia in Moldova to focus on nineteenth-century Romanian classics rather than Soviet Moldovan writers; and the individual case of a university professor who had inscribed on the notebooks in Romanian ‘long live the nation!’ rather than ‘workers of the world, unite’!³ This was a clear sign of pro-Romanian sentiment rather than pro-Soviet. Moldovan First Secretary Zinovii Serdyuk stated that a review of the MCP would be conducted as a result of the purge in Latvia.⁴

Did the Latvian purges have then a direct impact on Moldovan policies, such as Bessarabianisation? Bruchis argued that Bessarabianisation came to an end at the 11th Party Congress in December 1963 because of a growing divide between the Romanian Party leadership and Khrushchev:

The fact that after D. Cornovan’s appointment in 1961 as a secretary … Moscow did not allow another Bessarabian Moldavian to become a member of the bureau … for a whole decade, can be explained first and foremost by the strain in Soviet–Rumanian relations in the 1960s as a result of Khrushchev’s attempts to turn Rumania into an agrarian appendage of the more developed socialist countries and the opposition of the Rumanian communist leadership to these attempts. (Bruchis 1984, p. 76)

The growing tension undoubtedly coloured the debate, but the end of Bessarabianisation can be instead traced precisely to the September 1959 response to Latvia by the MCP. As Serdyuk went on to state at the plenum:

The ideology of bourgeois pacifism is killing itself more than anything in the field of cultural construction and personnel policy. Therefore, in the questions of selection and proper placement of cadres, we must be guided by the Leninist principles of the promotion of personnel, first of all, based on business and political qualities, not by language. All other requirements must be subject to this. Whenever national background is used in selecting personnel without consideration for business and political qualities of the worker, shortcomings and mistakes are unavoidable.⁵

Further, the plenum targeted open nationalists, such as George Meniuc, editor of Nistru, and many of the staff of the newspaper Kiperush.⁶

Moldovan leadership changes contextualised, 1958–1962

Gerhard Simon believed leadership changes from 1959 to 1961 across the Soviet Union were due to growing localism and bourgeois nationalism. Regarding Latvia, many of Simon’s conclusions on the July 1959 incident were correct. He then goes on to link the May 1961 removal of Serdyuk to the MCP’s crackdown on local nationalism two years prior in September 1959, two months after the Latvian purge. However, correlation is not causation, and with the benefit of archival documents and memoirs, we can offer a better understanding (Simon 1991, pp. 252–53, 263).⁷ The records indicate Serdyuk was ‘freed of his position’. That does not necessarily indicate being removed, but instead may only mean a routine transfer. Based on the stenogram from that central committee meeting, it seems that Serdyuk’s move to Moscow as deputy chair of the Party Control Commission was a routine transfer. His final meeting, when the reins were turned over to his second secretary, Ivan Bodyul, was affable and his new post did not seem to be a demotion.⁸ Moreover, in his memoirs, Bodyul appears to hold Serdyuk in very high esteem:

[Serdyuk] knew a lot and effectively used his experience in the education of cadres. He knew how to instil in them the belief that any difficulties can be overcome and the most difficult problems can be solved. [He] directly participated in the selection of personnel in the Moldovan economic council and supported them in every possible way, helping them in their work. (Bodyul 2001, p. 61)

However, to see 1961 as a routine year would be to deny the data presented in the tables. Thirty-nine percent of the MCP central committee in 1960 would not be elected in 1961. Turnover remained high for the next two years, averaging 26% departures each year.

Izyaslav Levit of the Academy of Science recalled that the appointment of Bodyul as first secretary came as a complete surprise for most citizens of the republic, as did the transfer of Serdyuk, who had recently been re-elected to the position of first secretary (Levit 2014, p. 115). Bodyul seemingly came out of nowhere after graduating from the Higher Party School. Following a brief stint working for the CPSU CC, he was returned to Moldova to take the position of second secretary in April 1959. Two years later, he took the post of first secretary, where he would remain for some 20 years. Was the stage being set for the removal of Serdyuk with Bodyul as his replacement? Was nationalism the driving factor? The answer to this may also help to explain the rapid turnover within central committees in 1958–1962 across the Soviet Union.

An interview with former Moldovan First Secretary Petru Lucinschi (1989–1991) offers some interesting insights:

By 1961, Nikita Sergeevich [Khrushchev] wanted to change personnel again. And then, starting from Kyrgyzstan, [the appointment in 1961 of Turdakun] Usubaliyev—and in Uzbekistan, [the appointment in 1959 of Sharof] Rashidov. So here too with Serdyuk. He [Khrushchev] worked with Serdyuk in Ukraine and then [Serdyuk] was … elected first deputy chairman of the Party Control Committee. This was a high position. But the first deputy never—neither before nor after—gave a photo of himself to the press … [eventually] when the leadership of the Central Committee … was published, there appeared a photograph of Serdyuk … to somehow show that he had in fact advanced.

Lucinschi went on to say:

Before that, the Organisational Department … gave instructions and they themselves suggested that it was necessary in Moldova to think about the fact that national personnel should be Moldovans. And thus they began to search. Second secretaries were [usually] from Moscow, but here the situation was such that if Bodyul was to eventually to be elected first secretary, it would be good for him to get some experience first.⁹

First, Lucinschi asserted that Serdyuk’s promotion was in name only. What is interesting about his statements is that, unprompted, he recognised 1961 as a period of Union-wide turnover. The fact that he ascribed the turnover to Khrushchev does not demonstrate that it was Khrushchev who initiated all instances. Instead, it could just as easily be a general assumption on the part of Lucinschi, who never had a relationship with Khrushchev. In fact, he later goes on to state that the initiative for Bodyul’s appointment came from the Party Organs Department and that his Moldovan ethnicity was a major factor. Whether Bodyul was truly Moldovan is still debated. His grandfather originally migrated from Bessarabia to southern Ukraine. Most historians, particularly Moldovan, consider Bodyul alien and Russified, only speaking the local language with difficulty (Bruchis 1984, p. 33; Caşu 2000, p. 62; King 2000, pp. 98–9).

In Lucinschi’s opinion the reason why the Party Organs Department selected Bodyul was because Moscow considered him Moldovan and having someone of the titular nationality was important. It suggests that the Party Organs Department wanted to see more representation of local nationals in leadership positions even if their claim to Moldovan ancestry was exaggerated. This aligns with Grybkauskas’ model of a Russian/Ukrainian second secretary and a first secretary from the republic (Grybkauskas 2020, p. 212). The fact that the position of second secretary was used as training for first secretary implies a certain flexibility and willingness by Moscow to apply the Ukrainian approach; that is, using local Party members as second secretaries to gain experience before the local becomes first secretary. In contrast, the ‘viceroy’ model rotated in every few years a new outsider from a reliable republic such as Russia or Ukraine to monitor a less reliable republic, in addition to carrying out the usual functions of a second secretary. It was not necessarily a path to becoming first secretary (Grybkauskas 2020, pp. 64–5, 87, 212, 216). Nevertheless, after Bodyul’s appointment as first secretary, the traditional ‘viceroy’ model returned. Perhaps Bodyul represented both: a Ukrainian with some Bessarabian ancestry. What is not known is the reason for the return to the traditional viceroy model. Perhaps the experiment in titular nationals as second secretaries had run its course due to the disappointing outcome of Vilis Krūmiņš’ tenure as a local second secretary (he was demoted in the 1959 Latvian purge), or perhaps Bodyul was simply an exception to the rule.

Who, then, was behind the leadership changes in Moldova and were they linked to changes in Latvia? Historians have generally seen Bodyul’s rise as the result of the patronage of Leonid Brezhnev, who was, for a brief period, first secretary of Moldova (1950–1952). The assumption stems from Brezhnev’s time in Moldova and the fact that, in the early 1950s, Bodyul’s wife worked for and was liked by the future Soviet general secretary (Caşu 2000, pp. 62–3; Schattenberg 2019, p. 199). However, in his memoirs, Bodyul presented a negative picture of Brezhnev. He recalled that ‘Brezhnev had good opportunities to raise questions on serious needs, but he did not take advantage of those opportunities’ (Bodyul 2001, p. 51). He went on to call Brezhnev’s approach to development ‘lightweight’, claiming that he ‘rarely visited factories’ and ‘did not fully think out ways of achieving concrete results’ (Bodyul 2001, p. 52). Igor Caşu and Mark Sandle provide evidence that Moldova benefited under Brezhnev, including through the 1971 ‘Measures for the development of Chișinǎu’, which meant huge outside investment for Moldovan infrastructure and was the first instance of such preferential funds being allocated to the capital city of a republic (Caşu & Sandle 2016, p. 127). However, this does not necessarily demonstrate that Bodyul’s rise was a result of direct intervention by Brezhnev. Without dismissing that possibility, the arrival of Aleksandr Shelepin at the Party Organs Department in Moscow and its influence on the governing of the republics needs to be more thoroughly examined. In this comparative study, in the first half of 1958 Shelepin was selected as head of the Party Organs Department; Krūmiņš was appointed second secretary of Latvia; and Bodyul spent his first months out of Higher Party School serving as an instructor in the Party Organs Department. In fact, Shelepin and Krūmiņš officially took up their positions the same month, April 1958. Was, then, the selection of Krūmiņš (a local rather than the usual Russian or Ukrainian import) as second secretary truly so odd? If so, was it the result of Shelepin’s arrival, or was the decision made beforehand and Shelepin had no choice but to accept it?

While Krūmiņš served as second secretary twice, once from 1954 to 1956, and again in 1958–1959, it is the second election that was noted as significant in the January 1958 Latvian Communist Party (Latvijas Komunistiskā partija—LCP) CC plenum, and in the memoirs of both Berklavs and Krūmiņš.¹⁰ Indeed, in an interview with one of the authors, Berklavs (mistakenly) believed that Krūmiņš was second secretary only once, in 1958 (Prigge 2015, p. 153). The stenographic records of 1958 reveal the reactions of its participants when the previous second secretary, Filipp Kashnikov, was unexpectedly rejected in a vote that was supposed to reappoint him as a simple formality. Instead, Berklavs was proposed for the position and upon voting, won a majority. The Latvian first secretary, Jānis Kalnbērziņš, was clearly caught off guard: ‘If a Russian comrade doesn’t get in, is this correct?’¹¹ He suggested the members of the CC consider the matter further, then to postpone the appointment of a second secretary altogether, but the Party members refused Kalnbērziņš’ attempts to ignore their vote. Berklavs knew that his extreme pro-Latvian stances would be unacceptable to Moscow, so he proposed the more moderate Krūmiņš. Either option represented a departure from the ‘viceroy’ model of second secretaries, given that both were Latvian national communists. Kalnbērziņš acquiesced and held off on the appointment of a second secretary for the time-being until he could consult with Khrushchev.¹² Berklavs recounted how after the meeting he and the other national communists walked the streets, ecstatic and disbelieving, planning their next move. In Krūmiņš’ version, he was the one who proposed that the matter be postponed, giving Moscow time to consider him as a compromise candidate between Berklavs and a Russian from the centre (Krūmiņš 1990b, p. 86; Prigge 2015, pp. 83–4). To what extent was Shelepin responsible for this anomalous appointment? Was there a push in 1958 to permit those from the titular nationality (Krūmiņš and Bodyul) to serve as second secretaries? Grybkauskas makes the argument that the institution of second secretary (as a non-local ‘viceroy’) only began in the mid-1950s within Lithuania, Latvia, Azerbaijan and Georgia, later spreading to the rest of the Soviet Union (Grybkauskas 2020, p. 213). If we imagine Kashnikov’s two-year term in Latvia as a false start, the 1958 election of Krūmiņš still fits within Grybkauskas’ theory.

The historian Tomáš Sniegoń, who conducted 130 hours of interviews with and ghostwrote the memoirs of Shelepin’s protégé and successor at the Party Organs Department, Vladimir Semichastny, believes that Shelepin and Semichastny were too young and inexperienced in their leadership positions to instigate a new course. Instead, he asserts they were simply carrying out the will of Khrushchev, who wanted to promote a younger and more dynamic generation.¹³ This position is supported by both the dates of the appointment and other accounts. Khrushchev had only invited Shelepin to take the leadership role during the 13th Komsomol Congress (15–18 April 1958) (Shelepin 1991, p. 19). Krūmiņš was officially appointed secretary on 16 April 1958.¹⁴ Because the question of Krūmiņš’ appointment had been in the air since January, the decision was almost certainly made before Shelepin’s arrival. Moreover, Krūmiņš himself gives credit to Khrushchev for permitting his advancement to the post of second secretary (Krūmiņš 1990b, p. 86). This makes sense given that the Party Organs Department had been leaderless since March 1957 (Titov 2018, p. 172). Krūmiņš recalled that when Khrushchev discovered Kashnikov had been ‘rolled’, he decided not to send anyone new but to let the Latvians have their own choice of second secretary (Krūmiņš 1990b, p. 86).

As for Bodyul, his memoirs depict Shelepin as instrumental in his career. In the late 1950s, Bodyul was a young, eager student who had made an impression on leading officials, particularly Shelepin, by the end of his time at the Higher Party School. According to Bodyul, Shelepin, as the newly appointed head of the Party Organs Department, was scouting talented young professionals from the republics and recognised Bodyul’s potential after he graduated from Higher Party School in June 1958. He briefly sent Bodyul as an instructor to various regions in Ukraine. Bodyul states:

The [Party Organs] Organisation Department of the Central Committee of the CPSU made preliminary, and often final, decisions for the state and Party on matters of personnel. Shelepin approached the cases entrusted to him with great responsiveness. He decided to upgrade the office apparatus by attracting promising Party workers from the republics. (Bodyul 2001, p. 66)

In April 1959, Bodyul was appointed second secretary, less than a year after graduating from the Higher Party School. If Shelepin was looking to increase the opportunities for leadership positions from Party members in the republics, was it he who advocated for Bodyul? Bodyul himself states that his appointment was approved by the new head of the Party Organs Department, Vladimir Semichastny, but that the initiative came from Serdyuk and the Moldovan politburo:

I was called by the new head of the Organisational Department of the Central Committee of the CPSU, V. E. Semichastny, who had previously also headed the All-Union Komsomol, and said: ‘We received an encoded message from Serdyuk with a request to agree with their proposal to elect you as the second secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Moldova’. I assumed that I would not work long in the CPSU Central Committee, but I did not expect that the bureau of the CPM CC would offer me such serious and responsible work. However, either because of [my] youth, or because by then I had the work experience of many regional committee secretaries and had done bureaucratic work in the CPSU CC, I calmly accepted this unexpected news. (Bodyul 2001, p. 67)

However, it is possible that those above Serdyuk encouraged Bodyul’s selection, even if the request technically came from Serdyuk and the republican-level politburo. Petru Lucinschi was asked specifically whether Shelepin or Semichastny were behind Bodyul’s promotion. In 1959, Lucinschi was young and not yet in the top echelon, but he was nevertheless well connected. His recollection was very clear:

Bodyul’s appointment was justified in all ways possible … . But, there was another person who had prospects—and in some documents, the one intended instead of Bodyul—Vasilii Gavrilovich Buga. Buga had good connections in Moscow, particularly with Semichastny and Shelepin. Bodyul knew this and disliked Buga. Then Buga was sent to Moscow—to the KGB. Buga was one of those people who had prospects, and those people who also had prospects, followed him.¹⁵

Lucinschi, like most historians and relevant participants, like Semichastny, credit Brezhnev as the key decision-maker (Semichastnyi 2002, p. 161).¹⁶ Bodyul did say, though, that he relied on Shelepin in later years to help him remove a second secretary. Thus, despite Shelepin’s new position as a member of the CPSU CC politburo, the now first deputy prime minister continued to wield authority in matters of personnel in the republics, years after he had served as head of the Party Organs Department (Bodyul 2001, p. 100).

Why, then, was Serdyuk inadequate? In Moldova, the question of Romanian nationalism was a real issue, but it does not seem to be the principal reason behind the high turnover. Instead, it was more a generational and competence issue. Bodyul spoke highly of Serdyuk in his memoirs and their goals in this matter were similar: to remove the incompetent and corrupt ‘old guard’ and replace them with talented young blood. Apparently Serdyuk tried but was not fully successful in this. In Bodyul’s memoirs, he states:

The situation of unprincipled nepotism and familiarity among the staff grew not only among the lower classes, but also the upper. The members of the bureau of the Central Committee of Diorditz, Koditsa, Gladkii, Skurtul, Tkach and other veterans of the ‘establishment’ of Moldova were afraid of a fresh breeze and held on tightly to each other, stubbornly resisted innovations in the approach to personnel issues. (Bodyul 2001, p. 70)

He continued, ‘substantial progress in economic and social development could not be counted on with such a conservative staff. Zinovii Timofeevich [Serdyuk] began with the main thing—strengthening personnel in key leadership positions in the republic’ (Bodyul 2001, p. 64). Bodyul made two comments that add a layer of complexity. First, he claimed that his rise was sudden, unexpected and potentially irksome to his former colleagues in the Moldovan CC, who might have been jealous of his success at such a young age (Bodyul 2001, pp. 65, 67–8). This accords with the recollections of Levit, who hastened to add in his memoirs that Bodyul possessed ‘authoritarian tendencies’ (Levit 2014, p. 115). Secondly, Bodyul readily conceded that he was an activist second secretary. He went far beyond the traditional role of second secretary, stating ‘I was not limited to the scope of my direct duties … I tried to delve into business matters, was interested in economics, and solving social problems’ (Bodyul 2001, p. 68). The 36% removal rate in 1961 occurred before Bodyul was named first secretary, but the sudden uptick seems to have been the result of Bodyul’s initiatives as second secretary. He states:

Prior to my election as the second secretary of the CPM Central Committee, Zinovy Timofeevich [Serdyuk] attempted to put an end to such a musty situation in cities and regions, but he did not succeed … . Having received responsibility for cadres and becoming well enough acquainted with republic affairs, I firmly decided to break the resistance of the seated leaders who did not see further than their nose and who were unable to solve issues in a new way. I decided to force those who could still be left in their previous positions to turn faster and work more energetically. Zinovy Timofeevich fully supported my intentions and, combining our efforts, we took up the solution of difficult, often very painful personnel issues. (Bodyul 2001, pp. 70–1)

It seems that Shelepin and Khrushchev were of the same mind regarding the desperate need for new blood in the Party. First, despite Shelepin and Semichastny’s role in the removal of Khrushchev, their sympathy lay with Khrushchev and they subsequently regretted helping to bring Brezhnev to power (Semichastnyi 2002, p. 171). ‘If Khrushchev had retired at the age of seventy’, Shelepin, as reported by Mlechin, once sighed, ‘we would have built a golden monument to him’ (Mlechin 2004, p. 161). The two saw Brezhnev as a transitional figure who would ultimately yield to the younger Shelepin. Khrushchev’s daughter, Rada Nikitichna Adzhubei, also saw Shelepin as her father’s likely successor (Mlechin 2004, pp. 149–50). Khrushchev’s primary focus was replacing the older generation with the new. It was up to Shelepin and Semichastny to carry that out. Shelepin’s role in personnel would extend far beyond his brief tenure as head of the Party Organs Department. When Semichastny assumed leadership of the Department at the age of 35, he told Khrushchev that he lacked the necessary experience, insisting ‘It’s too early for me’. Khrushchev responded, ‘I need you to gather new people from the Komsomol with you for Party work. We don’t know them, but you do’ (Mlechin 2004, p. 115). In a draft memo entitled ‘On the Selection and Placement of Personnel in the Party and the State’, Semichastny explained the need to quickly move the younger generation into leadership positions because the establishment was aging and there would be no one to replace them (Mlechin 2004, p. 115). As Semichastny later recalled in his memoirs:

We decided to analyse the personnel composition of leading Party workers and found that there were no secretaries of regional committees younger than 50–55 years old … . Most of the leading cadres were 60 years of age or older. The same analysis was made by specialty, education, orientation. Based on the results of our work, we prepared a note for the Presidium of the Central Committee. (Semichastnyi 2002, p. 41)

Unsurprisingly, he was met with a chilly reception from the older Party members. Mikhail Suslov retorted: ‘You just came and already you are running off the old cadres’ (Mlechin 2004, p. 115). Another complaint held that ‘This is a blow to experienced cadres. We’ll lose our best secretaries’ (Mlechin 2004, p. 115).

Even if national divisions were sharper among the Latvian leadership than the Moldovan, generational divisions were at issue in Latvia as well. When Kalnbērziņš reported to Khrushchev that the Latvian Party was splitting into young and old, the premier brushed him aside, saying, ‘that younger people needed to be introduced into the Politburo’ (Berklavs 1998, p. 52). The nationalist tendencies of the young Berklavs faction undoubtedly put Shelepin, then Semichastny, in an impossible situation. When Berklavs flew to Moscow to have his new appointment approved, a standard procedure, Shelepin brought up 147 letters complaining of his anti-Russian policies. He was friendly at first, but then asked Berklavs if he understood what he needed to do (presumably, modify his behaviour). In retrospect, it is astonishing that the 147 letters were not the cause of the meeting but an aside, and that there was no call for an investigation or intention to remove him. Shelepin was searching for a quiet compromise, but Berklavs was obstinate. Ultimately, Shelepin relented and told him to begin his new post (Prigge 2015, p. 79).

The young, dynamic leadership that Khrushchev and Shelepin so desperately sought was reaching critical mass in Latvia, but they brought with them a stance completely at odds with Marxism. It also presented the older leadership, such as Suslov, an excellent opportunity to reassert themselves. Leonid Mlechin, who interviewed both Shelepin and Semichastny for his 2004 book, understood the latter’s reduced standing to second secretary of Azerbaijan was due not only to his association with the number two member of the Presidium, Alexei Kirichenko (who was likewise demoted at the same time), but also as the revenge of the older generation, who removed Semichastny from the all-important post of personnel selection (Mlechin 2004, pp. 115, 119). Khrushchev did not want to have only one second secretary of the CPSU CC, because that would give the impression of a single heir apparent. Instead, he left the position somewhat open, which put Kirichenko and Suslov at odds with each other. Khrushchev perceived that Kirichenko and, to a much lesser degree, Semichastny, were making decisions without consulting him. However, according to Semichastny, the idea of needing to dismantle a gathering Ukrainian clique (Kirichenko and Semichastny) was only a pretext used by his opponents, like Suslov, to have him removed from his position. He states in his memoirs that the suggestion for his promotion to head of the Party Organs Department came from Shelepin, a Russian, not Kirichenko. And while it was clear to Khrushchev that the threat of a developing Ukrainian clique did not exist, he nevertheless needed to tread carefully. Khrushchev himself was close to being removed during the Anti-Party Purge of 1957. Suslov played an important role in protecting him (Taubman 2003, pp. 318, 320). Thus, he could not afford to completely alienate such members of the old guard. According to Semichastny, the Central Committee exploited the loss of the Azeri second secretary to move Semichastny out of his position only five months after he assumed it and one month after the purges in Latvia and Azerbaijan (Semichastnyi 2002, p. 45).

Understood properly, then, there was a quiet generational war. Khrushchev was the instigator; Shelepin and Semichastny the executors; and Berklavs, Krūmiņš and Bodyul were the beneficiaries. Suslov and Pelše, chafing, were biding their time. Ultimately, the extent to which central committee membership turned over in the republics indicates that Khrushchev’s attempt to ‘refresh’ the leadership of regional parties was successful. However, nationalism provided the opportunity for effective rearguard actions by the older generation, including the removal of younger leadership in places such as Latvia as well as the opportunity to blunt the progress of Shelepin and Semichastny. In Moldova, Bodyul, inexperienced as he was, did not possess the confidence of Moscow for a number of years, in part until he could demonstrate the degree to which he could contain Romanian nationalism in Moldova, particularly as relations became more strained between Romania and the Soviet Union. However, in the years immediately following the Latvian purge, Bodyul’s first major test as first secretary—mediating a bitter feud between a Moldovan secretary and that republic’s Ministry of Culture and Writer’s Union—demonstrates that internationalism did not always win out over nationalism and raises the question of whether there was even a single form of Moldovan nationalism.

The case of Dmitrii Tkach and Evgenii Postovoi

The September 1959 MCP CC plenum, the first plenum following the July purges in Latvia, put in motion a reaction and counter-reaction that revealed new sources of power and influence. Party Secretary Dmitrii Tkach, who oversaw the Ministry of Culture, was quietly removed in January 1960 for being too passive in his attempts to control manifestations of nationalism.¹⁷ His replacement was a larger-than-life dynamo named Evgenii Postovoi. Young and gregarious, Postovoi’s stance was decidedly assertive. Petru Lucinschi recalled the two secretaries: ‘Tkach was very peaceable. He was more into fishing’. On Postovoi, ‘I recall him from my school days. I was a delegate at the youth congress. He spoke. He was young and everything that one could want in a secretary. He held the world in his hands. And there would be no deviations from internationalism’. One can surmise that Postovoi intended to be the antithesis of Tkach. Where Tkach had failed, Postovoi would succeed brilliantly, make his mark, and then onward to becoming first secretary and beyond (or so he thought). The new secretary did not hesitate to involve himself in all matters, particularly in culture. A film director once quipped, ‘do you know who runs ideology in Moldova? A police officer [lit, a postovoi]’.¹⁸ However, Postovoi would fall spectacularly. Within two years of his appointment, he was demoted from Party secretary and member of the Moldovan Politburo to Minister of Education. Lucinschi, who had admired him so much as a schoolboy, would now become his boss. He died eight years later at the age of 50.¹⁹

Postovoi replaced Tkach in January 1960. Bodyul replaced Serdyuk in May 1961. In the midst of this transition, things came to a head for Postovoi. The incident related to the content of a film script; Postovoi was requesting alterations. He remarked, ‘I had a very definite opinion about the script’.²⁰ It is very likely that the issue related to nationalism, which a politburo member mentioned as a major problem within the Ministry of Culture and Writers’ Union, that Postovoi’s predecessor left unchecked.²¹ The Minister of Culture, Artem Lazarev, as well as the head of the Moldovan Writers Union, Andrei Lupan were both pleased with the script and joined forces to topple the zealous Postovoi, despite not being natural allies. Lazarev was from the so-called Left Bank, and Lupan from the Right; thus, stereotypically, they should have embodied the divide between Russified Moldovans and pro-Romanian Bessarabians.

While historians have traditionally understood the formation of the MASSR in 1924 to be an artificial creation of the Soviet Union devised solely as a way to delegitimise Greater Romania’s claim on Bessarabia (Martin 2001, pp. 274–75), and that its occupants were simply Russified tools of the Kremlin (Bruchis 1984, p. 33), it is possible that a true sense of Moldovan national identity took hold in the MASSR in the 1920s and 1930s during korenizatsiya (indigenisation). While at this point it cannot be fully demonstrated, it is our supposition that many who lived on the Left Bank, or the idealists who had fled to the MASSR from Greater Romania, became true Moldovan nationalists. The Left Bank intelligentsia, whose most prominent voice was Artеm Lazarev, envisioned Moldovan nationalism as civic rather than ethnonational. A unified Moldova would extend from the old MASSR on the east bank of the Dniester to the Prut River, while historically Bessarabian lands lost to Ukraine would also be returned to the new Moldovan state. The Moldovan language, which Lazarev considered distinct from Romanian, would be the primary language and culture of this new entity; however, bi- or trilingualism (Moldovan, Ukrainian and Russian) were acceptable. Those from the newly annexed Right Bank were expected to happily join and assimilate, and many did, such as the historian Izyaslav Levit, quoted below.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Lazarev published his memoir, Ya Moldavanin (I Am Moldavian), where he affirmed the understanding of Moldovan nationalism: that Moldovans were separate and distinct from the Romanian people, with their own language, history and culture (Lazarev 1995). In Levit’s memoirs, he summarised Lazarev’s view on Moldovan national consciousness as follows:

A person’s belonging to a particular nation is a purely personal matter, determined, first of all, by his national consciousness. It is not for me, a Jew, to tell other residents of Moldova what nationality they should be considered and called—Moldovans or Romanians, Russians or Ukrainians, Bulgarians or Gagauzes, etc., given the multi-ethnic composition of the population of the republic and a lot of mixed marriages. (Levit 2014, pp. 199–200)

Lazarev was a communist and staunch supporter of the regime, but he ran afoul of leadership over the loss of historically Bessarabian lands to neighbouring Ukraine (Caşu & Pâslariuc 2010). While he and Brezhnev became lifelong friends from the latter’s days as Moldova’s first secretary, Lazarev’s relationship with the next two first secretaries, Zinovii Serdyuk and Ivan Bodyul, were extremely strained. Together with the Right Bank intelligentsia, Lazarev and the Left Bank intelligentsia often had common cause protesting the Party’s prioritisation of agriculture over culture or defending the arts against intrusion by the state. However, the two factions were not the same. Levit continues that it was no coincidence that Ya Moldavanin was published in Tiraspol on the left bank of the Dniester instead of Chișinău on the right bank:

After the withdrawal of Moldova from the USSR, the most hot-headed advocated the urgent unification of the Republic of Moldova with Romania. In the reigning new environment … the works of A. M. Lazarev, and others who did not share this point of view of the national patriots, were almost excluded. (Levit 2014, p. 200)

Unknown to Postovoi, a letter of complaint about his meddling with the film script was sent to the CPSU CC, two members of which were invited to Moldova to investigate the matter further. Lazarev and the two representatives from Moscow came unannounced to Postovoi’s office and requested an immediate meeting. Outraged, Postovoi lost his temper at the three visitors, even using violent terms.²² In the midst of this, Lazarev offered his resignation in protest (it was not accepted) and the secretariat of the CPSU CC requested that the MCP investigate the matter. The investigation’s findings were discussed in the Moldovan politburo that July. Here Postovoi was given an opportunity to respond to the charges against him and to admit his mistakes. Other bureau members argued that he should be given a stern reprimand. A few statements from that meeting illuminate the challenges the leadership faced as well as the strategies various factions employed to even the field. While members generally acknowledged the scale of the task that Postovoi faced in managing creative activity, the most frequent comments related to his overreaction. His intrusive character coupled with an unwillingness to delegate often led to complete breakdown. One politburo member chided Postovoi, alleging that: ‘You have lost contact with your departments. You cannot cover everything yourself without people’.²³ This was more than a problem with a single secretary: the investigation revealed core problems of the Party itself. It was noted in the minutes of the meeting that:

Before the arrival of Postovoi, they [the creative intelligentsia; tvorcheskaya intelligentsiya] felt themselves at ease and to some extent worked without parameters. No one disturbed them … . Elements of nationalist character appeared in art, literature and the work of individual institutions. It is clear that some people did not like being questioned in a more rigorous way.²⁴

The newly arrived second secretary, Nikolai Mel’nikov, remarked, ‘our propaganda cannot be based only on shouting. We need to raise people up to carry out this work … .  A shout from above will not do anything but alienate the cadres of the intelligentsia from the Party organisation, from the Central Committee’.²⁵ This point is important, because it demonstrates the Party could not rule successfully by force alone but required consent. The key to consent was popularity. The Party was not popular. Creative artists were. In this case, we see how latent power, that is, the popularity of the writers with the public was actualised against Postovoi to remarkable effect. One Moldovan politburo member scolded Postovoi for walking into a trap laid by the intelligentsia.²⁶ What then, were the strategies employed by the creative intelligentsia to weaken Postovoi? The first was the threat of resignation, which Lazarev used directly in response to Postovoi’s intrusion.²⁷ Another way of understanding the threat of resignation is that it equalled the withdrawal of support for the Party and thus a delegitimisation of its rule. The second strategy was an anonymous letter-writing campaign. Postovoi was targeted in at least two additional anonymous letters beyond the initial complaint that reached Moscow in April 1961. One was addressed to Khrushchev directly and the second to the CPSU CC secretariat. The second letter, alleging nepotism and nationalism, spawned an entire investigation that lasted until the summer of 1962. The Moldovan politburo found the charges ‘completely baseless’.²⁸ However, according to Lucinschi, Bodyul did not have the full confidence of Moscow in his early years as first secretary.²⁹ Even if the secretariat found the charges to be baseless, the mere fact that they were called upon to investigate was going outside the chain of command, humiliating Bodyul at a vulnerable time in his career, and represented unrest rather than order. It is not surprising that he came down hard on Postovoi during the July 1961 Moldovan politburo meeting.

Conclusion

The years 1958–1962 represent a turning point for the entire Soviet Union. While our conclusions may also suggest possible explanations for Party membership changes in other republics, it is beyond the scope of this article. The turnover experienced during this period was not simply a reaction to localism, divided along national lines, but also a generational divide which set veterans of World War II against their children. While nationalism was not tolerated, the need for Soviet power to be legitimised among national minorities was firmly recognised and concrete steps were taken to achieve that. Thus, outcomes were not always predictable. A staunch defender of internationalism, such as Postovoi, was ultimately more a victim of the shift than pro-Romanians such as Meniuc. While Khrushchev was clearly impatient to give the younger Party members responsibility, each republic had its own unique circumstances.

In the introduction, this article proposed several reasons why Latvian national communists became so much more influential during the mid-1950s relative to their Bessarabian peers. The final reason suggested was that the Latvian national communists happened to have more dynamic leadership. To provide a theoretical framework for understanding the Union-wide turnover, the differences between republics, the question of chance and individual actors in history, as well as change and continuity, we briefly turn to the British sociologist Anthony Giddens. According to Giddens, change is not the result of individual actors alone, but a complex back-and-forth between actors and the structures of society in which they live. While structures of society are constantly being recreated, the newly created structure generally does not deviate much from what it replaced, thereby largely continuing the old form rather than changing to something new. Trust in the unspoken rules that make up structures of society, based on confidence from past success, is the binding glue that limits the change individual actors can impose (Giddens 1984, pp. 60–1, 64, 86–8). According to Giddens, ‘routine persists through social change of even the most dramatic type’ (Giddens 1984, p. 87). Change, then, requires the transformative capacity that both the individual actors possess as well as the structures of society. Thus, structures of society are both ‘enabling and constraining’ of transformative action (Giddens 1984, p. 169). Through this lens, our concluding remarks will briefly compare the leadership styles of Berklavs, Postovoi and Bodyul, and how successfully each effected change. This article identifies four key elements: (1) charisma; (2) a widening arena of conflict; (3) a willingness by agents of change to not stray too far from the bounds of trusted norms, even when altering them; (4) and a decline in trust of accepted norms because of a threat caused by the continuation of the status quo.

Ultimately, Berklavs and Postovoi were less successful agents of change than Bodyul. While Berklavs and Postovoi had the charisma necessary to effect change, they fell too far outside the norms of what was acceptable to the structure of their society. In the case of Berklavs, it was his desire to alter the social structure in a way more accepting of nationalism (within the confines of Marxist theory), and for Postovoi—it was extreme internationalism with little appreciation for national sensitivities. Opponents of Berklavs and Postovoi sought to widen the conflict by appealing to elements outside the republic, albeit from very different factions in Moscow. Berklavs also attempted to expand the struggle by going over the heads of the Party and appealing directly to the Latvian public through his newspaper, Rīgas Balss (Voice of Rīga). Postovoi found to his detriment that his sphere narrowed rather than widened. The Moldovan politburo, while sympathetic to his internationalist stance, could not condone his behaviour in the episode regarding the film script, particularly when two members of the CPSU CC visited Chișinǎu on this matter. While Bodyul’s charisma did not equal that of Postovoi or Berklavs, he did consider himself an activist second secretary before becoming first secretary. Giddens’ concept of trust was also a central question regarding the three leaders. The main reason why Berklavs offered up Krūmiņš as an alternative to himself for the seat of Latvian second secretary was the issue of trust from Moscow. Here, Bodyul succeeded better than Berklavs or Postovoi. Understanding that he did not have the full trust of Moscow in his early years, Bodyul was careful to operate inside the bounds of acceptable behaviour, even if it meant sacrificing the career of Postovoi. Postovoi was a potentially useful ally to Bodyul, but he was also a loose cannon. As tensions between Romania and the Soviet Union mounted, Moscow valued a steady hand on the tiller. Bodyul’s youth and relative inexperience already counted against him. Postovoi’s disruptive leadership style and his potential to alienate Romanian-speaking Moldovans by targeting their cultural luminaries may well have fed a general sense of chaos and instability. Bodyul was, however, in his own way a transformative leader—more so than Berklavs or Postovoi. For Bodyul to succeed as an agent of change, the threat posed by preservation of the status quo had to be imminent, and any changes had to be carried out within the boundaries of trust. According to Giddens, continuity of the structure of society is not automatic or assured, but based on confidence, which in turn is based on experience; that is to say, an understanding that the structure has provided security and will continue to do so (Giddens 1984, pp. 23, 86–7). When that trust begins to falter, then the structure itself aids the individual in becoming an agent of change. When Bodyul arrived in Moldova, much of the leadership from the older generation resisted his ‘fresh breeze’ (Bodyul 2001, p. 64). But what was apparent to enough people around and above Bodyul, particularly Khrushchev, Shelepin and Semichastny, was that the cost of doing nothing was becoming much greater than the cost of change. The state had stopped developing and was going backwards (Mlechin 2004, p. 182). This explains Bodyul’s successful early efforts as second and first secretary of Moldova to rapidly replace the older generation with more competent leadership from the younger generation. What was said about Bodyul could be applied to Khrushchev as he too sought to replace the old guard, albeit on a much larger scale. The high turnover rate in the republican CCs for the years 1958–1962 indicates Khruschev was a successful change agent, perhaps for many of the same reasons as Bodyul.

Acknowledgement

William D. Prigge would like to thank the J. William Fulbright Fellowship Program for their generous financial support of his research, as well as his research assistant, Noah Mincheff. He would also like to thank Michael Loader for organising and including him in various symposia with leading experts in the field to discuss these important questions. The symposia were generously supported by Uppsala University, the Lithuanian Institute of History, the University of Glasgow, the Leverhulme Trust and the British Association for Slavonic and East European Studies. Marius Tăríţă would like to thank the Institutul de Istorie, Moldova (82 31st August 1989 str, Chișinǎu, MD-2012, Moldova), where he conducted the work for this project as a scientific researcher. He would also like to thank the J. William Fulbright Fellowship Program for their financial support of his research that permitted this collaboration between the United States and Moldova, as well as Uppsala University and the Lithuanian Institute of History for inviting him to share his research at the symposium, ‘Friends, Neighbours and Competitors within the Soviet “Friendship of Nations”’.

Disclosure statement:

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

William D. Prigge

William D. Prigge, Professor of History, South Dakota State University, Box 510, Brookings, South Dakota 57007, USA. Email: [email protected]

Marius Tăríţă

Marius Tăríţă, Independent Researcher, Warsaw, Poland. Email: [email protected]

Notes

1 See also Conquest (1962, p. 387; 1965, p. 210), Tatu (1969, pp. 33–7).

This article has been republished with minor changes. These changes do not impact the academic content of the article.

2 Moldovan is the modern term and the language they speak is Romanian, which differs from the Soviet terms: Moldavians who spoke Moldavian. This article will generally use the modern form.

3 Arhiva Organizaţiilor Social-Politice a Republicii Moldova (hereafter AOSPRM), f. 51, op. 19, d. 13, l. 152.

4 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 19, d. 13, l. 227.

5 Emphasis added. AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 19, d. 13, l. 227.

6 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 19, d. 13, ll. 24, 150–51, 163–65, 209–10, 212–14, 230. Kiperush (The Hot Pepper) was a monthly satirical journal. Nistru (Dnieper) was the main literary journal published by the Union of Soviet Writers of Moldova. Both were published in Romanian.

7 Simon states: ‘In July 1959, the wave of purges began to sweep into Azerbaijan and Latvia, the two Union republics that had not conformed with education legislation … . The wave of expulsions lasted through 1960 … . In May 1961, the head of the Moldovan Party was also replaced. As in other Union Republics, the fall of prominent politicians was accompanied by vehement attacks on the cultural intelligentsia, cultural functionaries, individual magazines, or historical accounts.’ However, his source, 30 May 1961 Pravda, only states Serdyuk was ‘freed from his position’ [to pursue a new assignment in Moscow.] There is no necessary connection between the two events.

8 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 15, l. 207.

9 Authors’ interview with Petru Lucinschi, Chișinău, 13 October 2021.

10 One of the authors previously argued that the 1954 election was more of a formality; it was understood by all that the post of second secretary at that time did not hold the same ‘viceroy’ authority that would begin in Latvia in 1956 (Prigge 2015, p. 153). Saulius Grybkauskas agrees with that assessment (Grybkauskas 2020, p. 28). The catalyst for the change in the role of second secretary was the disappointing harvests in 1954–1955 (Grybkauskas 2020, pp. 81–3).

11 Latvijas Valsts arhīvs–Partija arhīvs (hereafter LVA–PA), f. 101, apr. 21, d. 11, lp. 2–3.

12 LVA–PA, f. 101, apr. 21, d. 11, lp. 1–6.

13 Comments by Tomáš Sniegoń in Discussion with William Prigge, Conference of Political Historians of the Post-War Soviet Union, University of Glasgow, 8 June 2022.

14 LVA-PA, f. 101, apr. 21, l. 14, lp. 103.

15 Authors’ interview with Petru Lucinschi, Chișinău, 13 October 2021.

16 Authors’ interview with Petru Lucinschi, Chișinău, 13 October 2021.

17 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 19, d. 13, ll. 98, 200.

18 Authors’ interview with Petru Lucinschi, Chișinău, 13 October 2021.

19 Authors’ interview with Petru Lucinschi, Chișinău, 13 October 2021.

20 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 299.

21 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 316.

22 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 320.

23 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 311.

24 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 316.

25 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 320.

26 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 319.

27 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 27, l. 319.

28 AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 21, d. 79а, l. 223; AOSPRM, f. 51, op. 22, d. 87, l. 70.

29 Authors’ interview with Petru Lucinschi, Chișinău, 13 October 2021.