Jefferson Flanders

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Reprinted from Washington Decoded, January 2010


Drone Wars

MADRID, 12 March 2013 (or 2017) - Former US President Barack Obama today abruptly canceled a scheduled trip to Spain after learning that he might be arrested on war crimes charges stemming from past American drone attacks on Al Qaeda leaders. The Nobel Peace Prize winner postponed his planned address to Madrid University students after judge Baltasar Garzón, acting on a request by human rights lawyers, issued arrest warrants for Obama and former CIA Director Leon Panetta under the legal doctrine known as “universal jurisdiction.” It allows for the local prosecution of grave human rights crimes regardless of where they were committed.

Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and the United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC) have all condemned US “Predator” and “Reaper” strikes on Al Qaeda and Taliban members as illegal extrajudicial executions, and have characterized collateral civilian deaths as a violation of international human rights law.

Does this scenario seem far-fetched? It’s not.

US government officials face the real possibility of future arrest and trial in Europe over Washington’s “drone war” in Pakistan—the targeted killing of Al Qaeda and Taliban leaders using missiles fired from remotely-controlled Predator and Reaper aircraft (or UCAV, for Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicles in military jargon). And the problem underscores a fundamental deficit in US policy since 2001: an inability or unwillingness by Washington to directly confront the limitations of international law in dealing with terrorism in the post-9/11 world.

The use of drones in regions where US forces are not declared combatants represents, in a nutshell, many of the moral and legal quandaries the United States has struggled with since 9/11. If the conflict with Al Qaeda is a war without borders, then targeted killings are scarcely different than taking down a combatant in any war. But if a state of armed conflict doesn’t exist, or if targeted killings aren’t regarded as a legitimate act of self-defense, then these attacks violate current international law.

Looking at it another way, if Khalid Sheikh Mohammed (KSM), the mastermind behind Ksm 9/11, were driving in the Pakistani tribal areas in a Land Rover today, according to US policy, it would be entirely legitimate to put him in the cross-hairs of a lethal drone. Instead, he is slated to stand trial in New York where he will be presumed innocent and where the emphasis will be on proving his guilt. Theoretically at least, KSM could walk out of court a free man.

This inexplicable contradiction underscores the inability of the United States and the world community to devise new legal conventions in the wake of 9/11. An internationalist-minded president would seek to shape international law to present conditions, rather than continually bending the law until it snaps back, with unintended consequences.

Continue reading "Drone Wars"...



Tom Rob Smith's "The Secret Speech" and the Stalinist past

September 2009

On February 26, 1956, Nikita Khrushchev, the then-leader of the Soviet Union, addressed a closed session of the 20th Communist Party Congress and denounced the cult of personality of his predecessor, Josef Stalin. Khrushchev's "Secret Speech" was a four-hour long condemnation of Stalin's myriad abuses of power, a shocking and detailed indictment of the dictator's crimes delivered just three years after his death.

British author Tom Rob Smith's new historical thriller The Secret Speech (Grand Central Publishing) traces the ripple effects of Khrushchev's denunciation of the "pockmarked Caligula" (to use Boris Pasternak's chilling description), and explores how those revelations profoundly altered the lives of both persecutors and persecuted in the totalitarian state Stalin had fashioned.

While Khrushchev tried to narrow the focus to Stalin and his depraved comrade Lavrenty Beria, the chief of secret police (and serial rapist of young girls) who was executed after Stalin's death, there was broad complicity in the horrors of Stalinism, beginning with Communist Party elites. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of people in the Soviet national security apparatus aided in the torture, abuse, summary execution, and unjust imprisonment of their fellow citizens. Some were willing accomplices in the purges and show trials, convinced that they were defending against subversion by enemies of the state. Others collaborated or informed out of fear or self-interest. The exposure of Stalinism's systemic perversion of justice shattered the faith of true believers around the world (the American Communist Party was devastated by the revelations). They discovered that they been lied to for decades about the "necessary evil" of Stalin's repression---it served not to advance scientific socialism, but to consolidate the power of a paranoid tyrant.

Shocking the system

The Secret Speech is set just after Khrushchev's shock to the system, and Smith dramatizes its effects through the story of Leo Demidov, a hero of the Great Patriotic War and former MGB officer (and the protagonist of Smith's bestselling debut novel, Child 44). As the book opens, Demidov is working as a homicide detective in Moscow, a job that brings him into contact with all levels of Soviet society and lets us watch as word of Khrushchev's revelations quickly spreads. (The conceit---a skeptical Russian insider/outsider with police powers---is a familiar one: Martin Cruz Smith's character Arkady Renko, also a detective, memorably explored the contradictions of Soviet life in Gorky Park and a follow-on series of thrillers.)

Leo hopes that his new position will help him make amends for his own culpability in the abuses of the past. He and his wife Raisa have adopted sisters, Zoya and Elena, in part because Leo failed to stop the murder of their parents by one of his MGB subordinates. On his self-chosen path to redemption, Leo discovers that some victims are not ready to forgive. Fraera, a woman Leo had helped wrongly condemn to the Gulag along with her husband as enemies of the state for their religious activities, has returned to Moscow, joined the vory v zakone ("thieves in law"), (the tattooed Russian mafia so vividly depicted in director David Cronenberg's movie Eastern Promises), and has targeted Demidov for vengeance. To protect his family, Leo must journey to the Kolyma region (the Gulag's "pole of cold and cruelty" according to Alexander Solzhenitsyn) and attempt, against long odds, to liberate Fraera's still-imprisoned husband, Lazar.

Smith paints a vivid portrait of the bleak, unforgiving world of the forced labor camps in Siberia. Leo's scheme to infiltrate Gulag 57 and free Lazar goes awry when his true identify is discovered; only a camp uprising triggered by news of Khrushchev's speech saves Demidov from immediate reprisal at the hands of the prisoners. In one of the novel's most arresting scenes, Gulag 57's commander Zhores Sinyavksy faces a makeshift court convened to pass judgment on his treatment of the imprisoned. Sinyavksy pleads his case in vain---he receives a just, but not merciful, sentence from the convicts before Red Army tanks end their brief moment of freedom.

In seeking to craft a suspenseful page-turner, Smith relies on too many unbelievable twists and turns to advance the narrative of The Secret Speech. A final plot contrivance that brings Leo and Raisa to Budapest to witness the Hungarian revolution in the fall of 1956 is particularly awkward. Smith invents a conspiracy---Kremlin hardliners sending agent provocateurs to Hungary to spark the uprising and justify a crackdown by a resurgent Soviet military---that doesn't pass historical muster. In fact, the Hungarian revolt represented an authentic expression of discontent by a coalition of intellectuals, students, and workers. It was a development that took the Soviet hierarchy by surprise. The broad popular support for the uprising and the participation of young educated Hungarians posed an existential challenge to Marxist-Leninist ideology which had maintained that such classless solidarity could only develop under Communism.

Budapest 1956 also caught the West off guard. Tim Weiner notes in Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA, the American intelligence establishment was clueless, without a network or agents on the ground: "During the two-week life of the Hungarian revolution, the agency knew no more than what it read in the newspapers...Had the White House agreed to send weapons, the agency would have had no clue where to send them." American involvement was limited to misleading Radio Free Europe broadcasts that raised false hopes of Western intervention.

Despite its over-plotting, The Secret Speech is compelling in its depiction of the first halting steps away from Communism. Leo's difficult journey from dedicated secret policeman to clear-eyed survivor mirrors in personal terms the beginning of that transformation. The moral reckoning isn't easy. Some of his MGB colleagues cannot live with their guilt. Careerists and opportunists have less difficulty adjusting to the new order. Others in the bureaucracy calculate the risks of embracing reform should de-Stalinization prove temporary and the ground under them shift once again.

Stalin's legacy?

The Khrushchev Thaw proved to be a partial one. The Kremlin maintained Stalinist security measures throughout the Soviet empire for another three decades. Indeed, nearly twenty years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the former KGB agent who controls the Russian government has shown little appetite for any "truth and reconciliation" process that might comprehensively address the horrors of Stalinism. Some Russians still long for the days of Stalin. In a disturbing sign of this revisionist nostalgia, Stalin was voted the third most popular Russian historical figure in a poll by the Rossiya state television channel in December 2008.

Historical myopia isn't confined to the Russians. In his Los Angeles Times review of Smith's novel, Michael Harris compared Stalinist collaborators with Americans today, noting: "...with hardly a repercussion to be afraid of, those who opposed Bush-era policies are acquitting themselves no better, while hard-liners such as Dick Cheney continue to warn that too much concern for civil rights will risk another 9/11." Harris failed, however, to specify the heroic acts of resistance that he thought Code Pink and other liberal-left opposition groups should have employed during the Bush years. Yes, it's hard to believe that even someone suffering from such a clear case of Bush Derangement Syndrome could compare Stalin's Soviet Union to George W. Bush's America, but, as baseball great Casey Stengel used to say, you can look it up.



The Vassiliev notebooks, American elites, and Cold War espionage

June 2009

Since the end of the Cold War we have learned a great deal more about how American and British elites---government officials, diplomats, journalists, scientists, academics, engineers---spied for the Soviets, and how surprisingly widespread this activity was. Nearly twenty years after the collapse of Communism, revelations about espionage by well-placed Westerners on behalf of the KGB* or Soviet military intelligence continue to emerge.

A rich source for Cold War historians on this Soviet penetration has been once-secret intelligence files copied by two former KGB officers: Vasili Mitrokhin (who left for the West in 1992) and Alexander Vassiliev, who was provided access to the agency's archives in the pre-Putin era. Vassiliev's notebooks have served as a foundation for two books, The Haunted Wood, authored by Allen Weinstein and Vassiliev, and the just published Spies: The Rise and Fall of the KGB in America, by Vassiliev and two leading scholars of American Communism, John Earl Haynes and Harvey Klehr.

The donation of the Vassiliev notebooks to the Library of Congress, and a consideration of the findings in Spies and other recent research on Soviet intelligence operations in the U.S., prompted a May 21-22 conference sponsored by the Cold War International History Project held at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars in Washington. The conference attracted leading Cold War historians, including experts on the Alger Hiss case (R. Bruce Craig, Eduard Mark, G. Edward White), the extended Rosenberg spy ring (Ron Radosh, Steve Usdin), and Soviet atomic espionage (Gregg Herken, Robert S. Norris).

Some in the revisionist camp also attended, including Hiss defender Jeff Kisseloff, who critiqued the conference on Blogging Hisstory, and two biographers of the radical journalist I.F. Stone---D.D. Guttenplan, author of the just released American Radical: The Life and Times of I.F. Stone, and Myra MacPherson (All Governments Lie: The Life and Times of Rebel Journalist I. F. Stone )---who challenged the assertion in Spies (first broached in an excerpt in Commentary magazine) that Stone had been an active Soviet agent in the 1930s, with the code-name "Blin" (Russian for "Pancake"), acting as a courier and talent spotter.

I.F. Stone and the KGB

The question of Stone's relationship with the KGB provoked the most heated exchanges at the conference. (In one of the more humorous moments, Vassiliev pronounced himself "bewildered by the interest in I.F. Stone.") Was the radical journalist simply exchanging gossip and information with sources who happened to be Soviet intelligence officers, as his defenders claim? Or was he consciously working under the direction of the KGB? Journalists such as Kim Philby, Whittaker Chambers, and Hede Massing stood at the center of several 20th century espionage cases, and this was not by chance. Haynes, Klehr, and Vassiliev note in Spies that the KGB targeted journalists for recruitment---an internal report listed 22 journalists working for the agency in the 1930s, with only engineers/scientists (49) providing more agents. The authors add:

The KGB recruited journalists in part for their access to inside information and sources on politics and policy, insights into personalities, and confidential and non-public information that never made it into published stories.

Spies asserts that Stone worked for the KGB from 1936-1938, and cites a key passage from a May 1936 letter to Moscow as proof: "Relations with Pancake have entered the channel of normal operational work." In a presentation on the second day of the conference, journalist Max Holland summarized his essay on Stone's encounters with Soviet intelligence (to be published in the Journal of Cold War Studies), and concluded that Stone had indeed performed intelligence functions for the KGB in the late 1930s. As for Stone's career post-1938, Holland reviewed the few references to Blin/Pancake in intercepted Soviet cables (decrypted as part of the U.S. Venona counterintelligence effort), and comments made in 1992 by KGB operative Oleg Kalugin that appeared to implicate Stone. Holland's conclusion: there is no hard evidence suggesting further KGB operational control of the radical journalist after 1938.

Holland also considered a different, and somewhat provocative, question. To what extent did Stone's contact with Soviet intelligence, both covert and overt, influence his writing over the course of his life? At given points in his career, did he consciously retail KGB disinformation? Or did Stone's radical views simply, and naturally, correspond to the Stalinist line?

It is a complex question: Holland found that Stone embraced doctrinaire Comintern positions on the Spanish Civil War and the Great Terror, but remained doggedly independent in calling for American intervention against the Nazis (even during the Hitler-Stalin pact). Yet Stone's 1952 The Hidden History of the Korean War, which parroted Soviet propaganda in blaming a U.S. conspiracy for starting the Korean conflict, seems suspect in light of what we now know. Did the KGB encourage Stone to write The Hidden History of the Korean War? The book's obvious bias led Richard Rovere of The New Yorker to categorize Stone as "a man who thinks up good arguments for poor Communist positions." After Stone's public break with Stalinism in 1956, however, Holland found Stone pursuing an anti-establishment journalism with no signs of outside influence.

Yet Stone remained remarkably quiet about the high-profile espionage cases of the late 1940s and 1950s, according to Holland. Stone was notably silent about the Hiss case ("perhaps it cut too close") and Stone confined his commentary on the Rosenbergs to questioning the fairness of their death sentence (never directly addressing their guilt or innocence). Had he not been conflicted about his own past, what might have Stone contributed to the discussion about the extent of Soviet control of the American Communist Party and its implications for national security?

Stone's reputation has been badly damaged by the revelations in Spies; Holland's essay raises further questions about the nature of Stone's relationship with Soviet intelligence after 1938. Concealing a secret past hardly fits Stone's iconic public image of an independent journalist committed to openness and transparency, but it would have been natural for Stone to want his association with Soviet intelligence to remain hidden. One Venona intercept highlighted Blin/Pancake's fear of exposure---while he was open to collaboration, he didn't want to "spoil his career." What was the psychic cost of Stone’s decades-long deception? How may it have shaped Stone’s journalism? These intriguing questions may never be answered.

Alger Hiss and “Ales”

If some ambiguity remains about the depth and breadth of Stone's involvement with the KGB, it's hard to find any remaining ambiguity in the case of American diplomat Alger Hiss. As Spies notes, the Vassiliev notebooks provide additional confirmation of what Whittaker Chambers long maintained and Allen Weinstein's book Perjury confirmed: despite his protestations of innocence, Hiss spied for the GRU during the 1930s and 1940s. (A prominent New Deal liberal, Hiss was accused in 1948 by Chambers of spying for the Soviets, and convicted on a related perjury charge in 1950.)

In his presentation to the conference, historian Eduard Marks knocked down a theory advanced by Kai Bird and Svetlana Chervonnaya in The American Scholar and embraced by die-hard Hiss defenders: that former journalist Wilder Foote---not Alger Hiss---was “Ales,” the code name for an American State Department official spying for the Soviets. (I've previously written about the holes in the Bird/Chervonnaya thesis in "Wilder Foote and 'The Mystery of Ales'.")

Mark drew on the Vassiliev notebooks and other research to conclude (as does Spies) that Hiss alone fit the profile of Ales drawn from cables sent on March 5 and 30, 1945 by the KGB station chief in Washington, Anatoly Gorsky. Gorsky had informed Moscow on March 5 that Ales was in Mexico City with a State Department delegation. Bird and Chervonnaya documented that Hiss was in Washington that day, therefore, they maintained, eliminating him as a candidate for Ales. They argued that Foote, who had remained in the Mexican capital, had to be the Soviet agent.

The Bird/Chervonnaya theory presumed that Gorsky was relaying information he knew to be accurate. Yet in his remarks Mark pointed to Gorsky's confusion about the whereabouts of Hiss' handler ("Ruble"/Harold Glasser) as proof that the Russian was not particularly well-informed. Mark added that Hiss had been listed by the State Department as part of the Mexico City delegation on March 5. Gorsky was mistaken: he was reporting about GRU agents, not KGB-controlled ones, so his information was second-hand, and faulty. Finally, Mark found no facts during his research to support the Foote-as-Ales theory, which, it is fair to say, resembles magical thinking more than it does serious historical inquiry.

The question of closure

Many previously unanswered questions about Cold War KGB espionage have been resolved by the Vassiliev notebooks and subsequent research. Spies has "outed" a number of Soviet agents and has provided greater specificity in the Hiss and Rosenberg cases.

Yet there remains much we don't know. Revelations about Soviet spying have continued to emerge. In 2007, Russian intelligence officials honored George Koval, “the spy who came in from the cornfields,” a previously unknown GRU agent who had infiltrated the Manhattan Project. In 2008, 91-year-old Morton Sobell admitted that he and Julius Rosenberg had been Soviet agents during the 1940s. Near the end of 2008, an American scientist at the Los Alamos weapons lab who had betrayed the secrets of the hydrogen bomb to the Soviets in the 1950s was identified by Robert S. Norris as Darol Froman.

In May, Germans learned that the West German policeman, Karl-Heinz Kurras, who killed a left-wing demonstrator in 1967 with "the shot that changed Germany" and ignited violent radicalism, was actually an East German Stasi agent. While Kurras has denied he acted as a provocateur, some have suggested that the history of German extremism in the late 1960s and 1970s may need to be rewritten. Further, the head of the Stasi archives reports that there are many East German secret police files yet to be examined.

The history of Cold War espionage is incomplete. There are questions still to be resolved. What do the full KGB and GRU archives contain? What further connections might historians make if granted access to the files? Are there other members of the British or American elite who betrayed their country? Are there covert agents yet to be identified? Have the GRU's files on Walter Krivitsky, George Koval, Whittaker Chambers, Alger Hiss and other agents been preserved? What might that information add to our knowledge of Soviet espionage in the 20th century?

Unfettered access to the Soviet archives would, no doubt, give us a clearer picture of the extent of betrayal of the Western democracies by some of its elites. As the Vassiliev notebooks have demonstrated, some of what we learn will cause a rethinking and reappraisal of Cold War history. With a resurgent Russia, that is as it should be, for as G.K. Chesterton once observed, we can be almost certain of being wrong about the future, if we are wrong about the past.


*For the purposes of this essay, I use "KGB" to describe the Soviet foreign intelligence service and "GRU" for Soviet military intelligence, although both had several name changes during the 20th century.

 




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