The Forsaken: An American Tragedy in Stalin's Russia

by Tim Tzouliadis

So many people were being arrested that the black vans were painted with signs advertising “Bread” or “Meat” or even “Drink Soviet Champagne!” in a shallow effort not to alarm the frightened public.12 As the Terror picked up speed, to crack a joke, to show ironic hesitancy over state propaganda, or even to collect foreign stamps was enough to be judged an “enemy.” Mass indoctrination was broadcast from blaring loudspeakers put up on street corners. A simple mistake of a factory manager, the miscalculation of an engineer, a broadcaster’s choice of light-hearted music on the anniversary of Lenin’s death—all became evidence of an organized conspiracy of saboteurs operating in their midst. The Soviet public was encouraged to search for hidden fascist symbols and coded messages, and quickly found them disguised in seemingly innocent book illustrations or newspaper photographs. Denunciation boxes appeared in factories and on street corners, and were soon crammed to bursting with claims made against fellow citizens, the denouncers vainly believing that by accusing others they might somehow save themselves. In such a society, pure malice was given free rein. The secretary of Stalin’s henchman Lazar Kaganovich, for example, while typing out an arrest list, quietly added the name of her neighbor. When her neighbor was arrested, she moved into the apartment she had coveted.13