Saeed Naqvi | Gorby’s model: 1980s Sweden as socialism was being refined
Gorbachev, as the following years showed, was clearly out of touch with the nation he intended to transform
“The world was a better place during the Cold War,” I said. Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev threw back his head and guffawed. This was in the 1990s in his apartment in Moscow, shortly after Germany recognized Croatia before the EU. “They were working according to a plan,” he said. How he must have suffered because the US broke its promise on NATO expansion. After the interview, my last with him, I asked him what was his dream when he started his reforms? “Something like Sweden in the 1980s when socialism and a free market were refined?” Thoughtfully, he nodded in agreement. This interview is available on YouTube.
The careers of Mikhail Gorbachev (1985-91) and Rajiv Gandhi (1984-91) were coterminous. Almost in line, I had resigned Indian Express 1984 to set up ‘World Report’ with a vision that I nurtured for a decade: Indian journalists must see the world with their own eyes. Rajiv’s visit to Moscow in May 1985, his first excursion, enabled me to switch to TV from print. Doordarshan was the only channel until 1994, when private channels hit the scene to receive advertisements following Manmohan Singh’s reforms.
What promised to be the task of a lifetime led to a murmuring campaign among some 50 colleagues traveling with the Prime Minister. “Why should a journalist get the scoop?” they grumbled. Foreign Minister Romesh Bhandari, his mouth full of paan para, didn’t know how I would cope. A press conference had been firmly ruled out by the Soviet system.
Release the interview then. It had bigger obstacles. The two systems working on Rajiv’s visit were also involved in the interview: the PMO, G. Parthasarathy Sr as superpurohit, the Foreign Office, DD, RAW and Ambassador Nurul Hasan in Moscow, and their Soviet counterparts.
Finally, Bhandari came up with a compromise: I would do the interview but the rest of the media team would choose a representative to sit in. Approval was obtained from the very highest in the Kremlin. N. Frame of Hindu cut the Gordian Knot: the spectacular Russi Karanjia by Blitz would represent the media.
Adjacent to the hall where the top fighters would meet was a small area surrounded by ropes, much like a boxing ring, except this was on level ground. Four chairs were placed inside the ring – two for Gorbachev and his interpreter and two for Russi and me. The rest of the press corps would have a ringside view.
All eyes were riveted on the door through which Gorbachev would walk towards us and take his place. In these exciting minutes, Russi collected scraps of paper from the journalists. Those were questions they wanted Russi to ask.
Just then the door opened. Andrei Gromyko, foreign minister since the Khrushchev era, entered, stood near the door, looked carefully at the arrangements and went back.
Next stepped into Romesh Bhandari and waved his hands as if conveying glad tidings. “Sorry friends, there will be no interview. A short press conference would give wrong signals.”
Later I found out what happened. After seeing the media bandobast, Gromyko took Gorbachev aside, along with some officials, including Bhandari. Gromyko had cleverly resolved the situation. Bhandari’s choreography would lend itself to a melee. Journalists outside the ring would ask questions out of turn. The new young CPSU leader would not be exposed to such guaranteed chaos.
“What if the field is lost, all is not lost,” I told myself, quoting Satan. This was to get me out of my deep disappointment. Soon enough, Gorbachev’s return visit to Delhi was announced in December 1986. I was in Moscow again.
TN Kaul handled the interview this time and insisted that not one or two, but four representatives of the official media should sit with me. I’ve had enough! This was my mood when I entered the library next to Vladirminsky Hall. Every syllable of every question to be asked had been cleared by Kaul. At one, narrow end of a long table, large enough for a catwalk, sat Gorbachev. I sat in the corner of the long side, closest to him. To my left was the official media. On the other side of the table, opposite me, stood three stern-looking Soviet officials, staring at me like suspicious surveillance guards. Against the wall across from me sat Veena Sikri, the Indian press secretary, grinning from ear to ear despite me breaking every rule you’ll see right now.
“Mikhail Sergeyevich, I was told that we should meet in the library, but there are no books here,” I said.
“There are books in the adjoining room—lots of books.”
“Do you have time to read?”
“Yes, yes,” emphatically, “I have a habit of reading.”
“Name an author you would recommend!”
“Chinghiz Aitmatov,” he said without batting an eyelid.
Then I opened my cards.
“Your bureaucracy and mine have settled a series of issues. If I limit myself to these sanitized issues, millions in India who are eager to see you will turn off their TV sets. May I therefore ask you questions on what I think are important questions?”
“Da, da, da” (yes, yes, yes), he emphasized several times.
To everyone’s surprise, the call, which was billed for 30 minutes, lasted 90 minutes, completely outside the parameters set by the two bureaucracies. Gorbachev looked very much so glass cheese man, rejoicing in getting out of the old straitjacket. But as the years that followed proved, he was clearly out of touch with the nation he had set out to transform. When dealing with the Americans, he was naive.
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