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Este blog trata basicamente de ideias, se possível inteligentes, para pessoas inteligentes. Ele também se ocupa de ideias aplicadas à política, em especial à política econômica. Ele constitui uma tentativa de manter um pensamento crítico e independente sobre livros, sobre questões culturais em geral, focando numa discussão bem informada sobre temas de relações internacionais e de política externa do Brasil. Para meus livros e ensaios ver o website: www.pralmeida.org. Para a maior parte de meus textos, ver minha página na plataforma Academia.edu, link: https://itamaraty.academia.edu/PauloRobertodeAlmeida;

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Mostrando postagens com marcador URSS. Mostrar todas as postagens
Mostrando postagens com marcador URSS. Mostrar todas as postagens

quarta-feira, 4 de maio de 2022

Documentos da RFA sobre a imediata queda do muro e a implosão da União Soviética, 1991: contra a expansão da OTAN - Der Spiegel

 Der Spiegel, Hamburgo – 3.5.2022

Bonn-Moscow Ties

Newly Released Documents Shed Fresh Light on NATO's Eastward Expansion

In 1991, German Chancellor Helmut Kohl wanted to prevent the eastward expansion of NATO and Ukrainian independence, according to newly released files from the archive of the German Foreign Ministry. Was he trying to assuage Moscow?

Klaus Wiegrefe

 

Usually, only experts take much note when another volume of "Documents on the Foreign Policy of the Federal Republic of Germany" is released by the Leibniz Institute for Contemporary History. They tend to be thick tomes full of documents from the Foreign Ministry – and it is rare that they promise much in the way of reading pleasure.

This time around, though, interest promises to be significant. The new volume with papers from 1991 includes memos, minutes and letters containing previously unknown details about NATO’s eastward expansion, the collapse of the Soviet Union and the independence of Ukraine. And already, it seems that the documents may fuel the ongoing debate surrounding Germany’s policies toward the Soviet Union and Russia over the years and up to the present day.

In 1991, the Soviet Union was still in existence, though many of the nationalities that formed the union had begun standing up to Moscow. Kohl, though, felt that a dissolution of the Soviet Union would be a "catastrophe" and anyone pushing for such a result was an "ass." In consequence, he repeatedly sought to drum up momentum in the West against independence for Ukraine and the Baltic states.

Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania had been annexed by Soviet dictator Josef Stalin in 1940, with West Germany later never recognizing the annexation. But now that Kohl found himself faced with the three Baltic republics pushing for independence and seeking to leave the Soviet Union, Kohl felt they were on the "wrong path," as he told French President François Mitterrand during a meeting in Paris in early 1991. Kohl, of course, had rapidly moved ahead with Germany’s reunification. But he felt that Latvia, Estonia and Lithuania should be more patient about their freedom – and should wait around another 10 years, the chancellor seemed to think at the time. And even then, Kohl felt the three countries should be neutral ("Finnish status"), and not become members of NATO or the European Community (EC).

He felt Ukraine should also remain in the Soviet Union, at least initially, so as not endanger its continued existenceOnce it became clear that the Soviet Union was facing dissolution, the Germans were in favor of Kyiv joining a confederation with Russia and other former Soviet republics. In November 1991, Kohl offered Russian President Boris Yeltsin to "exert influence on the Ukrainian leadership" to join such a union, according to a memo from a discussion held between Kohl and Yeltsin during a trip by the Russian president to the German capital of Bonn. German diplomats felt that Kyiv was demonstrating a "tendency toward authoritarian-nationalist excesses."

When over 90 percent of Ukrainian voters cast their ballots in favor of independence in a referendum held two weeks later, though, both Kohl and Genscher changed course. Germany was the first EC member state to recognized Ukraine’s independence.

Nevertheless, the passages could still cause some present-day eyebrow raising in Kyiv, particularly against the backdrop of the ongoing Russian invasion.

Germany’s policies toward Eastern and Central Europe also raise questions. The Warsaw Pact collapsed during the course of 1991, and Genscher sought to employ a number of tricks to prevent countries like Poland, Hungary and Romania from becoming members of NATO – out of consideration for the concerns of the Soviet Union.

The momentum of Eastern and Central European countries toward joining the NATO alliance was creating a volatile mixture in Moscow of "perceptions of being under threat, fear of isolation and frustration over the ingratitude of former fraternal countries," reported the German ambassador as early as February 1991.

Genscher was concerned about fueling this situation further. NATO membership for Eastern-Central Europeans is "not in our interest," he declared. The countries, he noted, certainly have the right to join the Western alliance, but the focus should be on ensuring "that they don’t exercise this right."

Was his position born merely of prudence and a desire to ensure peace for the good of Europe? Or was it a precursor to the accommodation with Moscow "at the expense of other countries in Eastern Europe" that Social Democratic (SPD) parliamentarian Michael Roth recently spoke of? The chair of the Foreign Affairs Committee in the German parliament, Roth is in favor of establishing a committee of inquiry to examine failures in Germany and within his own party when it comes to Ostpolitik. He believes that Germany "de facto denied the sovereignty" of its neighboring countries.

Roth is referring specifically to Berlin’s policies in recent years. But should the analysis perhaps take a look further into history? All the way back to the era of Kohl and Genscher?

“Initially, the former Warsaw Pact countries pursued the intention of becoming NATO members. They have been discouraged from doing so in confidential discussions.”

German Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher in 1991

Curiously, Germany’s Ostpolitik – both in the period leading up to German reunification and since then – has today become the focus of criticism from all sides. Russia, too, is among the critics, accusing the West of having broken its word with the eastward expansion of NATO.

Some of the documents that have now been declassified may even be reframed by Russian President Vladimir Putin and his acolytes as weapons in the ongoing propaganda war. Because in several instances, Genscher and his top diplomats refer to a pledge made during negotiations over German reunification – the Two Plus Four negotiations – that NATO would not expand into Eastern Europe.

Russian politicians have been claiming the existence of such a pledge for decades. Autocrat Putin has sought to use the argument to justify his invasion of Ukraine. Yet Moscow approved the eastern expansion of NATO in the NATO-Russia Founding Act of 1997, if only grumblingly.

 

Many of the documents that have now been made public seem to support the Russian standpoint:

* On March 1, 1999, Genscher told the U.S. that he was opposed to the eastward expansion of NATO with the justification that "during the Two Plus Four negotiations the Soviets were told that there was no intention of expanding NATO to the east."

* Six days later, the policy director of the German Foreign Ministry, Jürgen Chrobog referred in a meeting with diplomats from Britain, France and the U.S. to "the understanding expressed in the Two Plus Four process that the withdrawal of Soviet troops from the West cannot be used for our own advantage."

* On April 18, Genscher told his Greek counterpart that he had told the Soviets: "Germany wants to remain a member of NATO even after reunification. In exchange, it won’t be expanded to the east ..."

* On October 11, Genscher met with his counterparts from France and Spain, Roland Dumas and Francisco Fernández Ordóñez, respectively. Minutes from that meeting recorded Genscher’s statements regarding the future of Central and Eastern European Countries (CEECs) as follows:

"We cannot accept NATO membership for CEEC states (referral to Soviet reaction and pledge in 2 + 4 negotiations that NATO territory is not to be expanded eastward). Every step that contributes to stabilizing situation in CEEC and SU is important." SU is a reference to the Soviet Union.

As such, Genscher wanted to "redirect" the desires of CEEC to join NATO and was on the lookout for alternatives that would be "acceptable" to the Soviet Union. The result was the North Atlantic Cooperation Council, a body within which all former Warsaw Pact countries would have a say.

"Initially, the former Warsaw Pact countries pursued the intention of becoming NATO members," said Genscher. "They have been discouraged from doing so in confidential discussions."

For a time, the Germans were even in favor of NATO issuing an official declaration that it would not expand eastward. Only after the German foreign minister visited Washington in May 1991 and was told that an expansion "cannot be excluded in the future" did he quickly back off and say that he was not in favor of a "definitive declaration." De facto, however, it appears that he wanted to avoid expanding NATO to the east.

In Bonn, the initial capital of newly reunified Germany, the mood was one of self-confident optimism. The Cold War was over, Germany had been unified and Kohl and Genscher were pushing forward the consolidation of the EC into the European Union.

The chancellor also saw an historic opportunity when it came to relations with the Soviet Union. "Perhaps we will now be able to make right some of what went wrong this century," he said. After World War II with its millions of deaths and the partitioning of Germany that resulted, Kohl was hoping to open a new chapter in relations with Moscow.

The Soviet Union at the time was under the leadership of Mikhail Gorbachev, an idealistic, pro-reform communist who the Germans loved since he had acquiesced to the end of East Germany. "If the Germans are prepared to help the Soviet Union, it is primarily out of gratitude for the role played by Gorbachev in Germany’s reunification," was Kohl’s description of the situation. The fact that Gorbachev was vehemently opposed to expanding NATO into Central and Eastern Europe was of no consequence when it came to the esteem in which he was held in Germany.

Later, the chancellor would say in public that he had been Gorbachev’s "best advocate." The two leaders used the informal term of address, passed along greetings to their wives and gossiped over the phone.

Kohl sought to drum up support around the world for "Misha" and his policies. He helped secure an invitation for the Kremlin leader to attend the G-7 summit and under Kohl’s leadership, Germany sent by far the most foreign aid to Moscow.

Kohl was deeply concerned that Gorbachev detractors in the Soviet military, secret services or state apparatus could seek to overthrow him. And an attempted putsch only just barely failed in August 1991. A group surrounding Vice President Gennady Yanayev detained Gorbachev, but mass demonstrations, the widespread refusal to obey orders in the military and resistance from Boris Yeltsin, who was president of the republic of Russia at the time, doomed the attempted overthrow to failure. Gorbachev remained in office.

It is hard to imagine what might have happened if the Soviet military had ended up under the command of a revanchist dictator at the time. Hundreds of thousands of Soviet soldiers were still stationed in what had been East Germany and additional units were still waiting to be pulled out of Poland and Czechoslovakia. The German Foreign Ministry files make it clear that the withdrawal of the troops was a "central priority" of German policy.

And then there were the roughly 30,000 Soviet nuclear warheads, which represented a significant danger. The "nuclear security on the territory of Soviet Union has absolute priority for the rest of the world," the Foreign Ministry in Bonn stated.

From this perspective, any weakening of Gorbachev was out of the question, and the same held true for the Soviet Union as a whole, which Gorbachev was trying to hold together against all resistance.

Kohl and Genscher believed in a kind of domino theory, which held that if the Baltic states left the Soviet Union, Ukraine would then follow, after which the entire Soviet Union would collapse, and Gorbachev would fall as well. And that is roughly what happened throughout the year of 1991. Kohl, though, had his doubts as to whether such a dissolution would be peaceful. He felt that a kind of "civil war" was possible, of the kind that was soon to break out in Yugoslavia.

Gorbachav’s longtime foreign minister, Eduard Shevardnadze, even warned the Germans. During a Genscher visit to Moscow in October 1991, Shevardnadze, who was no longer in office by that time, prophesied that if the Soviet Union were to fall apart, a "fascist leader" could one day rise to power in Russia who may demand the return of the Crimea.

Putin annexed the Crimea a little over two decades later.

In 1991, Kohl even felt it was possible that the poisonous form of nationalism that appeared in Eastern Europe following World War I could make a reappearance. He believed that if the Baltic countries were to become independent, "the clash with Poland will start (anew)." Poland and Lithuania fought against each other in 1920.

The conclusion drawn by the German chancellor was that "the dissolution of the Soviet Union cannot be in our interest ..."

Ultimately, the Baltic countries and Ukraine went on to gain independence. And it likely won’t ever be possible to determine conclusively if Kohl’s analysis of the situation was erroneous or whether the Latvians and Lithuanians were simply lucky that their path to independence was more or less peaceful.

Many Western allies, in any case, tended to side with the Germans in their analysis of the situation. French President Mitterrand, for his part, complained about the Baltics, saying "you can’t risk everything you have gained (with Moscow – eds.) just to help countries that haven’t existed on their own in 400 years." Even U.S. President George H. W. Bush, a cold realist, complained about the forcefulness of the Baltic politicians as they pushed for independence.

Germany’s friendship with the Kremlin even led Chancellor Kohl to overlook a criminal offense on one occasion. On Jan. 13, 1991, Soviet special forces in the Lithuanian capital of Vilnius were unleashed on the national independence movement there, storming the city’s television tower and other buildings. Fourteen unarmed people were killed and hundreds more injured.

The protests from Bonn were tepid at best.

Just a few days after the violence, Kohl and Gorbachev spoke on the phone. The diplomat listening in on the call noted that the two exchanged "hearty greetings." Gorbachev complained that it was impossible to move forward "without certain severe measures," which sounded as though he was referring to Vilnius. Kohl’s response: "In politics, everyone must also be open to detours. The important thing is that you don’t lose sight of the goal." Gorbachev concluded by saying that he "very much valued" the chancellor’s position. The word Lithuania wasn’t uttered even a single time, according to the minutes.

Gorbachev’s role in the violent assault remains unclarified to the present day.

sexta-feira, 11 de março de 2022

De Bretton Woods a Bretton Woods: a longa marcha da URSS de volta ao FMI - Paulo Roberto de Almeida (1991)

De Bretton Woods a Bretton Woods: a longa marcha da URSS de volta ao FMI (1991)

 Quando escrevi o artigo abaixo, em agosto de 1991, sobre a volta da União Soviética às organizações de Bretton Woods, ANTES que a URSS desaparecesse, no final daquele ano, saudando seu retorno, pois que ela havia estado em Bretton Woods, em 1944, não imaginava que ela pudesse ser EXPULSA do FMI e do Banco Mundial, como pode acontecer agora, em 2022, por causa da invasão brutal e da guerra GENOCIDA por um êmulo de Stalin contra o povo ucraniano.

Os interessados em saber como ele foi a Bretton Woods, e depois recusou tornar-se membro (a despeito de que o segundo homem do Tesouro, Harry White, era um agente soviético e até ofereceu que os EUA pagassem a cota da URSS destruída pela guerra contra Hitler), podem ler este meu artigo, que talvez mereça agora continuidade. Registro que escrevi o artigo antes que, no final desse mês, o Gorbatchev sofresse um golpe de Estado, de velhos comunistas, e ficasse alguns dias fora do poder. Depois ele voltou, mas em 25 de dezembro anunciava o fim da URSS. Escrevi muito sobre os camaradas, mas apenas quero colocar a disposição de um público mais amplo, este meu artigo:
Paulo Roberto de Almeida

209. “De Bretton Woods a Bretton Woods: a longa marcha da URSS de volta ao FMI”, Montevidéu, 27 agosto 1991, 15 p. Artigo sobre a participação da URSS na conferência de Bretton Woods. Publicado na Revista Brasileira de Política Internacional (Rio de Janeiro: Ano XXXIV, n. 135-136, 1991/2, p. 99-109). Postado no blog Diplomatizzando (17/12/2011; link: http://diplomatizzando.blogspot.com/2011/12/russia-de-bretton-woods-1944-bretton.html); disponível em Academia.edu (link: https://www.academia.edu/5661851/209_De_Bretton_Woods_a_Bretton_Woods_a_longa_marcha_da_URSS_de_volta_ao_FMI_1991_). Relação de Publicados n. 71.

Transcrevo apenas a parte inicial do artigo e depois remeto aos links acima, para os interessados em lê-lo por inteiro (e confesso que não reli, para verificar o que escrevi em 1991, ANTES do fim da URSS, mas ela parece estar voltando agora, sob Putin).

DE BRETTON WOODS A BRETTON WOODS:

a longa marcha da URSS de volta ao FMI

 

Paulo Roberto de Almeida

Revista Brasileira de Política Internacional

(Rio de Janeiro: Ano XXXIV, n. 135-136, 1991/2, pp. 99-109)

Postado no blog Diplomatizzando

(17/12/2011l link: http://diplomatizzando.blogspot.com/2011/12/russia-de-bretton-woods-1944-bretton.html)

 

O espectro do passado

A História costuma dar muitas voltas, antes de retornar, eventualmente, ao seu ponto inicial. Ela nem precisa reproduzir-se como farsa, como afirmava Marx a partir do conceito original de Hegel. Farsa ou tragédia, tudo depende do ponto de vista de quem é chamado a pagar a conta da repetição do espetáculo. Na verdade, mais que repetir-se, a História se contenta com pregar peças naqueles que ousam desafiar as “leis de funcionamento do mecanismo econômico da sociedade”, para empregar uma das frases preferidas do autor d’O Capital, ou melhor, do Dezoito Brumário, onde aquela famosa reflexão sobre o retorno da História foi registrada pela primeira vez. 

Assim, pode ser encarada, por exemplo, a restauração da “velha” ordem capitalista nos países que, antes ou depois da II Guerra Mundial, tinham adotado o sistema de economia planificada e que, durante muito tempo, se tinham preparado alegremente para enterrar o capitalismo (com a ajuda eventual de uma das muitas crises cíclicas deste último). A transição acelerada do modo de produção socialista ao ancien régime do capitalismo, empreendida a todo vigor no Leste europeu, pode, ocasionalmente, ter seu lado de tragédia (e muito pouco de farsa), notadamente para os órfãos do planejamento centralizado, mas, ela tem muito pouco de surpresa para aqueles que acompanharam com atenção a parábola do comunismo na História.

Winston Churchill, ainda que reconhecidamente muito pouco afeito a reflexões de tipo hegeliano, não se surpreenderia, por certo, com a desmontagem final de um regime econômico e político por ele considerado como “pouco natural” e mesmo totalmente contrário à “natureza humana”. A invocação à Churchill é, aliás, ilustrativa do itinerário tortuoso que a História percorreu em pouco mais de 70 anos de ascensão e queda da ideologia socialista.

Ele, que tinha estimulado e participado ativamente na montagem do apoio ocidental aos grupos de russos brancos que, entre 1918 e 1923, combateram militarmente a jovem república bolchevique, não hesitou, mais tarde, em aliar-se ao “demônio comunista” para eliminar, como ele dizia, o “diabo hitlerista”. Ao final da guerra, conhecedor como poucos do caráter brutal da dominação stalinista, foi um dos primeiros a afirmar que uma “cortina de ferro” se tinha abatido sobre a Europa.

Com efeito, em 5 de março de 1946, Winston Churchill pronuncia, no Colégio Rural de Fulton (Missouri, EUA), seu famoso discurso sobre a cortina de ferro que tinha passado a dividir a Europa desde Stettin até Trieste. Ele reitera então seu severo julgamento, elaborado desde os primórdios do poder bolchevique, sobre o caráter totalitário dos regimes sob dominação soviética e, empregando uma imagem que se tornaria típica da guerra fria, caracteriza o comunismo como uma “ameaça crescente à civilização cristã”.

Churchill afirmava particularmente: “O que eu pude conhecer de nossos amigos russos durante a guerra, me convenceu que, mais do que tudo, eles admiram a força e que, mais do que tudo, eles desprezam a fraqueza militar”. Em 19 de setembro desse mesmo ano, exercitando seus dons de “futurólogo”, ele se pronuncia a favor dos “Estados Unidos da Europa”. Churchill ousa mesmo prever a derrocada final do sistema comunista, com base, em grande medida, nos mesmos argumentos que tinham sido avançados no século passado por John Stuart Mill em relação ao caráter profundamente irracional da organização social da produção em regime socialista.

Churchill, evidentemente, não logrou viver o bastante para assistir à confirmação prática do ceticismo sadio demonstrado pelo pensamento econômico liberal a respeito da debilidade intrínseca de qualquer forma de apropriação coletiva dos frutos do trabalho individual. Difícil dizer, também, se ele consideraria a marcha acelerada das economias planificadas em direção do mercado como uma demonstração inequívoca de um “retorno da História”. Em todo caso, ele provavelmente receberia com um sorriso maroto a solicitação algo desesperada apresentada pela União Soviética de adesão plena ao FMI e ao Banco Mundial, formulada por ocasião da reunião do G7, de julho de 1991 em Londres. 

A despeito da simpatia despertada nos europeus, a cauta reação anglo-americana apenas permitiu contemplar, numa primeira fase, um simples estatuto de “membro associado”, isto é, a URSS ganha o direito de ser escrutinada pelos bisturis cruéis do FMI mas não consegue alcançar a bolsa dos cobiçados sestércios. Essa posição intermediária será rapidamente superada pela situação normal de associação plena, uma vez aprovado um programa rigoroso de reconversão econômica e definidas as linhas da cura de emagrecimento do Estado socialista.

Mais, do que a aceitação formal ou efetiva, pela URSS, dos princípios de mercado, é o apelo ao FMI que conforma verdadeiramente um retorno patético da História. Afinal de contas, as instituições de Bretton Woods, tidas por Stalin como a “representação mais acabada” da ordem mundial capitalista, sempre concentraram os ataques mais veementes dos adeptos da economia planificada. Com o tempo, entretanto, vários países do “socialismo realmente existente” tiveram de arrefecer suas críticas e trataram de solicitar, cada qual a seu turno, uma discreta adesão às antigas “agências do imperialismo econômico”. O movimento se acelerou, desde os anos 70, até incluir agora a própria União Soviética, o que aliás não tomou inteiramente de surpresa os observadores mais atentos, já que esse “salto qualitativo” estava implícito na natureza das transformações em curso nas “economias pós-socialistas”.

Pode-se, contudo, falar legitimamente de “ingresso” da URSS nas instituições financeiras de Bretton Woods, ou seria melhor referir-se à “volta” da ex-pátria do socialismo a organizações por ela mesma criadas no quadro das Nações Unidas? Um pequeno passeio pela História nos permitirá esclarecer essa questão.

(...)


Para ler a íntegra, remeto a estes links: 


Postado no blog Diplomatizzando (17/12/2011; link: http://diplomatizzando.blogspot.com/2011/12/russia-de-bretton-woods-1944-bretton.html); disponível em Academia.edu (link: https://www.academia.edu/5661851/209_De_Bretton_Woods_a_Bretton_Woods_a_longa_marcha_da_URSS_de_volta_ao_FMI_1991_).

quinta-feira, 15 de julho de 2021

Vasco Leitão da Cunha: laços diplomáticos entre Brasil e União Soviética durante a ditadura - Lourival Santana (OESP)

 Livro revela laços diplomáticos entre Brasil e União Soviética durante a ditadura

        
Lourival Sant'Anna
O Estado de S. Paulo, 14 de julho de 2021 | 14h35


A União Soviética pressionou em 1964 o recém-instalado regime militar a não abrigar no Brasil um governo cubano no exílio, de oposição a Fidel Castro. A revelação está no novo livro do diplomata brasileiro Henri Carrières, “A gestão de Vasco Leitão da Cunha no Itamaraty e a Política Externa Brasileira”, que reúne, em dois volumes, 170 documentos do período entre 1964 e 1965, muitos deles originalmente sigilosos.

Na insólita data de 30 de dezembro de 1964, o diplomata Celso Diniz, chefe da Divisão de Europa Oriental no Itamaraty, foi convidado para um almoço na embaixada soviética.

De acordo com memorando secreto assinado por Diniz, o embaixador da URSS no Brasil, Andrei Fomin, “declarou-se seriamente preocupado com as especulações ultimamente veiculadas pela imprensa brasileira sobre a possibilidade de constituição de um governo cubano no exílio, com sede no Brasil”.

Fomin advertiu que “tal iniciativa seria certamente interpretada como uma agressão ao campo socialista, com gravíssimas repercussões internacionais”.
Se isso se concretizasse, “os países socialistas poderiam ver-se compelidos, por força do princípio de solidariedade, a interromper suas relações com os países que viessem a apoiar tal governo no exílio, e mesmo a tomar outras medidas mais sérias, em retaliação”.

O chanceler Leitão da Cunha havia se reunido em 17/12/1964, em Washington, com o ex-presidente cubano Carlos Prío Socarrás, que “exortou o Brasil a reconhecer um governo cubano no exílio”. Socarrás foi deposto em 1952 por Fulgencio Baptista, por sua vez derrubado pela Revolução Cubana em 1.º de janeiro de 1959. Leitão da Cunha conhecia bem Cuba: ele era embaixador em Havana na época da revolução, pela qual manifestou simpatia, inicialmente. E chegou a desenvolver certa proximidade com Fidel Castro.

Em entrevista publicada em 2/3/1965 pelo jornal mexicano La Prensa, Leitão da Cunha declarou, a propósito do possível reconhecimento de um governo de exilados cubanos, que “estudaria a solicitação com o critério de um governo revolucionário, que lutou contra o comunismo no Brasil e tem reafirmado sua posição contrária à permanência do comunismo em nosso continente”.

Duas semanas depois, em entrevista ao Jornal do Brasil, o escritor Rubem Braga criticou o chanceler pela “dúbia complacência com que ele encara a possibilidade de se instalar no Brasil um governo cubano de exílio”.

Durante a reunião, antes de fazer a advertência, “o embaixador Fomin se referiu à Revolução brasileira de 31 de março, reafirmando tratar-se de problema exclusivamente brasileiro e que seu país, como tem feito até aqui, se absterá de intervir, sob qualquer forma ou pretexto, no processo político brasileiro, esforçando-se, ao contrário, para melhorar e aperfeiçoar suas relações com o Brasil, em todos os terrenos”.

O golpe militar teve como objetivo declarado evitar que o Brasil sucumbisse ao comunismo e se tornasse mais um satélite da União Soviética, a exemplo do que havia acontecido com Cuba. Entretanto, o governo brasileiro demonstrou preocupação em não romper com a chamada Cortina de Ferro.

Mais que isso, houve uma decepção gradual com a falta de engajamento dos Estados Unidos nas questões latino-americanas, enquanto a Guerra do Vietnã consumia as energias das políticas externa e de defesa americana. “A realidade do relacionamento não se mostrou à altura das expectativas do governo brasileiro”, observa Carrières.

Em 1965, o presidente Humberto Castello Branco chamou de volta ao Brasil o embaixador em Washington, Juracy Magalhães, político experiente e muito alinhado com o governo. Acomodou-o por breve período no Ministério da Justiça e, em seguida, no Itamaraty. Para compensar Leitão da Cunha, de quem gostava pessoalmente, Castello Branco ofereceu-lhe a Embaixada em Washington. Além de ser uma figura de grande prestígio, Leitão da Cunha tinha boas relações com a equipe do presidente americano, Lyndon Johnson.

Ou seja, Leitão da Cunha e Magalhães fizeram um roque. Ambos acreditavam na necessidade de estreitar relações com os Estados Unidos, analisa Carrières, formado em história pela Universidade Federal Fluminense, com parte da graduação cursada na Universidade Paris VII, e hoje servindo justamente na embaixada do Brasil em Washington.

Ao mesmo tempo, numa amostra da dupla estratégia da política externa da época, Magalhães foi um entusiasta da viagem a Moscou do então ministro Roberto Campos, ícone do pensamento liberal e avô do atual presidente do Banco Central.

Em 11/9/1965, Magalhães disse ao presidente Castello Branco, no Palácio das Laranjeiras: “A missão do ministro do Planejamento em Moscou será, por certo, muito proveitosa. Tanto, talvez, quanto a missão Fulbright, que veio introduzir elementos novos na dinamização das nossas relações com os EUA”.

No auge da Guerra Fria, mesmo tendo maior convergência com os Estados Unidos, o regime militar não deixou de cuidar de seus interesses na relação com a superpotência soviética. E vice-versa: a URSS também cultivou o relacionamento com o Brasil.

A versão em PDF do livro está disponível gratuitamente nesse link: http://funag.gov.br/biblioteca-nova/produto/37-1151-1

https://internacional.estadao.com.br/blogs/lourival-santanna/livro-revela-lacos-diplomaticos-entre-brasil-e-uniao-sovietica-durante-a-ditadura/


sábado, 5 de dezembro de 2020

Amy Knight: da literatura russa do século XIX para o Estado policial do século XX e XXI - New York Review of Books

 Amy Knight era apenas uma apreciadora da literatura soviética, quando foi detida pela KGB. Isso lhe deu uma nova direção em suas leituras, pesquisas e livros.

Online this week

On Thursday, we published “Aleksei Navalny, Ready to Run Again in Russia,” by the historian and longtime New York Review contributor Amy Knight. She reviews the prospects for Navalny, the anti-corruption opposition politician who survived a poisoning attempt with the nerve agent Novichok, thanks to treatment in Germany, and is now planning a return to Russia to resume his mission as a thorn in the side of President Vladimir Putin.

Knight has become known as one of the West’s leading scholars of the KGB, from her first book, a study of the secret police published in 1988, through subsequent ones on Stalin’s henchman Lavrenty Beria and cold war spying, to her most recent, Orders to Kill: The Putin Regime and Political Murder (2017). Although her first love had simply been the literature of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, which made her want to learn the Russian language, the course of her future research was set while she was studying at the University of Michigan.

“A study tour of the Soviet Union with fellow students and professors in the summer of 1967—the height of the cold war—resulted in my brief arrest by the KGB, which took a dim view of our group’s consorting with their dissident students,” she told me via email this week. “After that experience, I became fascinated with the Soviet dissident movement and the efforts of the Soviet regime to suppress it.”

She pursued graduate studies at the LSE and embarked on her career as a Soviet affairs analyst at the Library of Congress, followed by teaching positions at Johns Hopkins, George Washington, and Carleton universities. The dissolution of the Soviet Union is now some thirty years distant, but I was curious to know what those epochal events had meant at the time for a Sovietologist—was she ever worried about being out of a job? 

“On the contrary, the Soviet collapse created huge opportunities because we finally could visit Russia in person,” she replied. “And the Soviet archives suddenly opened up—a treasure trove of files and documents on the hitherto secret operations of the Communist Party leadership. I was able to travel to Russia and do research and interviews, including with a former KGB chief, several times in the early and mid-Nineties. This was the golden age for Western Russia experts and scholars.”

The halcyon era did not last long. By the latter part of the decade, she explained, the shutters were coming down again and her access to such sources ended.

“Once Putin became firmly entrenched in power it became risky for people like me, who were so critical of Putin, to visit Russia. The last time I was in Moscow, March 2008, I was well aware that I was being watched wherever I went to do interviews,” she said. “Shortly before I left Moscow, I became violently ill with what I assumed was food-poisoning from eating at the Marriot Hotel on Tverskaya Street. But in retrospect, I saw the incident as a warning and have not attempted to return to Moscow since then.”

There was no confusing Navalny’s illness with food-poisoning. Placed in a medical coma by Russian doctors, and then flown to Germany for specialist—and safe—treatment, he was lucky to survive. Until this moment, the opposition leader had faced repeated arrests and legal harassment on apparently spurious and politically motivated charges. Why had he now, I asked Knight, faced an assassination attempt that had the Kremlin’s fingerprints on it?

“Navalny addresses the single most important weakness of Putin’s regime: official corruption,” she explained. “The Russian people are suffering terribly economically, and the more they learn about the vast sums of money that Putin’s cronies are pocketing at their expense, the more receptive they are to Navalny’s calls for protest.”

Knight’s article this week read to me as relatively optimistic about what Navalny might still achieve once back in Russia, despite Putin’s iron control of the state security apparatus, the media, and an ersatz electoral process. Will the incoming Biden administration make much difference, I asked.

“Putin has made it clear in his public comments over the years that a strong NATO alliance is one of the greatest threats to his regime,” she said. “The most important thing for Biden in his strategy toward Russia is to repair our alliance with our European allies and act in concert with them in responding to the human rights abuses of the Kremlin. The sanctions that Navalny and his colleagues have advocated are a good example.

“I think that Russian democrats are very relieved to see that Trump will be out of the White House,” she added, “because Trump turned a blind eye to Putin’s human rights abuses.”

—Matt Seaton

 

For everything else we’ve been publishing, visit the Review’s website. And let us know what you think: send your comments to editor@nybooks.com; we do write back.

terça-feira, 5 de maio de 2020

Náufragos na floresta siberiana: 80 anos à deriva - Jay Serafino

Uma família permaneceu à margem do mundo desde o auge do stalinismo na União Soviética, mas não por oposição política, e sim por convicções religiosas ultra-ortodoxas. 

POCKET WORTHYStories to fuel your mind.

The Russian Family That Cut Itself Off From Civilization for More Than 40 Years

The Lykov family left Russian society under persecution in the 1930s and remained hidden until 1978.

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Photo Illustration: Lucy Quintanilla. Images: iStock.
In 1978, four geologists were surveying for potential iron ore from a helicopter hovering above the mineral-rich, but ultimately uninhabitable, taiga forest of southern Siberia when the pilot spotted something out of the ordinary down below: a garden, unmistakably manmade. It was 150 miles away from the nearest glimpse of humanity and thousands of feet up a mountainside, where survival wasn’t just questionable—it was considered impossible.
But the garden was there, which meant that people must be there, too. The geologists decided to land nearby and trek to the spot. They prepared themselves with offerings of food for what they hoped would be a peaceful meeting. At least one brought a handgun in case of the alternative.
When the team made its way into the area, they discovered a small dwelling. “Blackened by time and rain, the hut was piled up on all sides with taiga rubbish—bark, poles, planks,” geologist Galina Pismenskaya later recalled. “If it hadn’t been for a window the size of my backpack pocket, it would have been hard to believe that people lived there.”
Then a figure emerged: a man with a wild beard and makeshift clothing. “Greetings, grandfather,” Pismenskaya said. “We’ve come to visit!”
After an uncomfortable silence, he spoke: “Well, since you have traveled this far, you might as well come in.”
The man's name was Karp Lykov, and he had a tale to tell: He and his family had been living in complete isolation from the world on the remote Siberian mountainside for more than 40 years.

Old Believers on the Run

In the mid-17th century, the Russian Orthodox Church made alterations to its liturgical rituals to bring them more in line with Greek practices. Most members accepted the changes, but a group known as the Old Believers refused to assimilate. Though it may seem trivial to break from a church over disputes like the number of fingers used when giving the sign of the cross, the Old Believers considered the changes blasphemous, enacted by a centralized church they did not support. They were so dedicated to their traditional ways that many would have suffered self-immolation rather than follow the new customs.
This schism led to the imprisonment, torture, and even execution of Old Believers by the Russian Orthodox Church; persecution and exile persisted for centuriesMany fled the country; those who stayed faced an intensified threat with the coming of an atheist communist regime in the 20th century.
The Lykovs' situation reached a tipping point in 1936, when Karp's brother was killed by a Bolshevik patrol. With their Old Believer status threatened more than ever, Karp moved his wife, Akulina, and their two children—9-year-old son Savin and 2-year-old daughter Natalia—into seclusion in the insular wilderness of Siberia.
It was there, in the frigid forest, that the family made their home. They built a single-room hut out of whatever materials they could find. They had no electricity or plumbing, and survived on potatoes, nuts, rye, berries, and whatever else the land provided. Their shoes were fashioned from bark, and once their existing clothing could no longer be patched or repatched, they made replacements from hemp.
Though the situation was grim, the family managed to grow: Son Dmitry was born in 1940 and Agafia, a daughter, arrived in 1943. The children learned to speak both Russian (albeit interspersed with a lot of archaic words) and Old Slavonic, and though they knew little of the outside world, Karp did tell them stories about Russian cities and life beyond the hut—but it was through the lens of an Old Believer. That meant stories of a modern society that was godless and sinful, populated by people that were to be "feared and avoided."
Aspects of life that are routine in civilization were a terrible struggle for the family, and the harsh Siberian weather wreaked havoc on the Lykovs' makeshift food supply. During one particularly barren stretch, Akulina often gave up her own food to ensure that her children's stomachs were filled just a bit more. She died of starvation in 1961.

A Family out of Time

By the time the geologists made contact with the family, the Lykovs had been living away from the world for approximately 40 years. World War II had passed without their knowledge, and Smithsonian reported that Karp didn't believe that we had landed on the moon—though he had a feeling we had at least made it to space, judging by the streaking satellites he had observed. “People have thought something up and are sending out fires that are very like stars,” he said.
The family remained in the dark about much of the progress of the 20th century, and they were greatly interested in the new technology they were shown. Dmitry, in particular, was astonished by a circular saw that could accomplish in moments what would take him hours or days to finish. Karp, on the other hand, seemed most excited by the geologists' gift of salt, which the family patriarch described as “true torture" to live without.
The Lykovs would eventually grow to have the same weakness as many of the rest of us: television. Vasily Peskov, a Russian journalist who chronicled the family, observed that the Lykovs would have an internal struggle about the glowing box in front of them. They were at once enraptured and guilt-ridden when they’d watch it while meeting with researchers over the years.
“On their rare appearances, they would invariably sit down and watch,” Peskov wrote (via Smithsonian). “[Karp] sat directly in front of the screen. Agafia watched poking her head from behind a door. She tried to pray away her transgression immediately—whispering, crossing herself—and once again stuck her head out. The old man prayed afterward, diligently and in one fell swoop.”
Like a parable with an all-too-convenient moral, the Lykov family’s contact with the civilized world would be followed by tragedy. Savin, Natalia, and Dmitry all died in 1981: Savin and Natalia of kidney failure, and Dmitry of pneumonia. While most sources will put the kidney failure blame on the family’s rough diet, Dmitry’s death was possibly brought on by his exposure to new people with unfamiliar germs his immune system simply couldn’t fight. He was offered to be taken to a hospital by helicopter for treatment, but the family's beliefs wouldn't allow it. “A man lives for howsoever God grants," he said before he died.

The Lone Lykov

Since Karp’s death in 1988, Agafia remains the last of the Lykovs. She’s still in isolation, though she’s far more accepting of outside help than her family had been for decades. Her story has inspired people to bring her food, Old Believer newspapers, and other supplies to ensure her health and safety. She has even made trips into civilization—just a handful—for medical attention and to visit relatives in recent years.
But Agafia is still not built for the world outside what she knows. She told Vice that her body can only tolerate water if it’s from the local Erinat River, and city air is nearly unbreathable for her. Even the bags of seeds she receives from outsiders bear a reminder of the evils of modern life: the barcode, which Old Believers see as the mark of the devil.
“It’s the stamp of the Antichrist,” she told Vice. “People bring me bags of seeds with bar codes on them. I take the seeds out and burn the bags right away and then plant the seeds. The Antichrist stamp will bring the end to the world.”
Still, civilization has its upside. When a documentary film crew asked Agafia if she thought life was better before or after being introduced to society, she replied, "Back then, we had no salt.”
Jay Serafino is a writer and editor for Mental Floss. He is an indoor enthusiast, who has written extensively on movies, television, comic books, and history. He also might be the only person in New Jersey with tattoos of Teddy Roosevelt and the Green Lantern on the same arm.

This post originally appeared on Mental Floss and was published July 26, 2018. This article is republished here with permission.

quinta-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2020

Holodomor, o genocídio soviético contra o povo ucraniano - Gazeta do Povo

Holodomor, a história que os comunistas querem esconder

Gazeta do Povo, 15/01/2020
 
Tem um Youtuber comunista (sim, isso existe) dizendo por aí que o Holodomor não existiu. Segundo ele, seria um "mito anticomunista".

Por mais que os comunistas queiram esconder, o Holodomor foi um dos episódios mais cruéis da história — e infelizmente também um dos mais desconhecidos. Aqui na Gazeta do Povo, porém, publicamos um vasto e esclarecedor material a respeito.

Em primeiro lugar, o que foi o Holodomor, a grande fome na Ucrânia?

Entre 1932 e 1933, um programa de reorganização da agricultura dos estados soviéticos matou até 12 milhões de habitantes da Ucrânia. Stalin sabia que a iniciativa era um fracasso, mas não se importou. 


A crise no fornecimento de alimentos marcou a história do país e ganhou um nome, Holodomor, uma expressão bem literal: em ucraniano, significa “matar de fome”.

Dos 60 milhões de hectares de território ucraniano, 42 milhões são adequados para o plantio. Atualmente, o país é referência mundial na produção de grãos e um dos três maiores exportadores de milho do planeta. Como foi possível que um lugar assim passasse fome?

A partir de 1930, o governo de Stalin iniciou um amplo programa que previa a coletivização da agricultura, incluindo a alteração dos produtos plantados por outros, e a rápida industrialização e urbanização de uma série de regiões do bloco.

“O governo soviético decidiu implantar as unidades agrícolas coletivas e obrigava os proprietários de terra ucranianos a abdicar de suas propriedades. Foi um experimento horrível”, relata o embaixador da Ucrânia no Brasil, Rostyslav Tronenko.

31% dos que morreram de fome eram crianças com menos de dez anos. Todos que eram pegos tentando fugir acabavam assassinados. As crianças tinham tanta fome que perdiam o medo e eram assassinadas ao pedirem por um grão de comida.

Muitos tiveram de recorrer ao canibalismo para sobreviver. A maioria dos habitantes das cidades não sabiam que isso estava acontecendo e os que sabiam ficavam em silêncio, com medo de serem executados.

Em 1933, o silêncio foi finalmente rompido por um jovem corajoso chamado Gareth Jones, do Reino Unido, que expôs a tirania e a fome e que estava desesperado para revelar a verdade. Ele foi um herói no melhor sentido do termo.

Ele foi muito criticado por Walter Duranty, jornalista do NYT (e simpatizante dos soviéticos) que deliberadamente enganou o mundo e negava a fome a fim de colaborar com o regime comunista. Ele dizia que a fome se deu por má nutrição e doenças, e não pela ação humana.

Infelizmente, Jones foi considerado um mentiroso e acabou em descrédito junto à imprensa. Depois ele foi morto com dois tiros nas costas e um na cabeça na China, em 1935 (há indícios de que tudo foi planejado pela Polícia Secreta Russa). Ele tinha apenas 29 anos. (Recentemente foi lançado um filme sobre a vida de Gareth Jones. Vale a pena ir atrás)

O incidente, e o próprio termo Holodomor, só começaram a surgir a partir dos anos 1970, pelo esforço de imigrantes ucranianos no Canadá e nos Estados Unidos. Até bem perto do fim da União Soviética, a população dos países do bloco comunista não sabia o que havia acontecido.

Atualmente, 16 países caracterizam Holodomor como genocídio – afinal, matou tantas pessoas, ou mais, quantos judeus foram massacrados pela Alemanha de Adolf Hitler.

Mesmo assim, no que depender dos livros didáticos brasileiros, dificilmente um estudante de ensino básico vai ter contato com a expressão Holodomor. Ao entrar na história da União Soviética dos anos 1930, os livros afirmam que Stalin transformou o país em uma potência econômica.

As obras lembram que esse feito teve um custo humano alto. Mas nenhum dos livros consultados dedica mais do que uma página à reorganização forçada da agricultura, nem menciona a tragédia do Holodomor.

Infelizmente, o Holomodor não foi o único crime contra a humanidade promovido pelos comunistas da União Soviética. Este texto lista outros 16 terríveis crimes, como os gulags e os grandes expurgos.