Standing at a Great Divide

By John Kohan

Kremlin receiving lines often provide some clues about who is up and who is down in the Soviet leadership. But when Yuri Andropov failed to appear at the annual gala marking the anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution on Nov. 7, his ten comrades on the Communist Party's ruling Politburo neatly sidestepped the protocol problem. Instead of forming a line to shake hands with their guests, they bunched together behind their table in a Kremlin banquet hall. It was symbolic confirmation of the vexing problem that faced the Soviet Union as it prepared for the second transition of power in only 15 months: there was no obvious candidate to fill the vacancy left by Andropov. Says Cornell University Political Scientist Myron Rush: "Since nobody is in a strong position, practically everybody is in a strong position."

The rules of thumb that have applied in past races will undoubtedly hold true this time as well. The new Soviet leader will be chosen from among the twelve voting members of the Politburo. He is likely to be a member of the powerful party Secretariat, which controls the day-to-day affairs of the Communist Party, and he will probably be an ethnic Russian. To rule effectively, he will have to count on the support of some combination of backers from the three main pillars of Soviet power: the party bureaucracy, the military and the technocratic elite. But imponderables remain. Will the small group of men, whose average age is now 67, choose a successor from the older group and risk another short-lived regime or will they make the bold decision to turn power over to a younger generation that is thinly represented in the inner circle of power?

Should the Soviet leadership opt for age over youth, there was always standby Candidate Konstantin Chernenko, 72, who took Andropov's place on the Lenin Mausoleum during the military parade through Red Square in November and was named chairman of Andropov's funeral committee last week. Chernenko worked his way to positions on the Politburo and the Secretariat largely by serving as an aide to Leonid Brezhnev, and he was thought to have been his boss's hand-picked heir. But he lost out, probably when the military and party colleagues decided to back Andropov. Since then, Chernenko has given every appearance of being a team player; he nominated Andropov for the top party post after Brezhnev's death, and for President of the Soviet Union seven months later.

The white-haired, grandfatherly Chernenko might still be the nostalgic favorite of entrenched and aging bureaucrats who remember the old days under Brezhnev. But Chernenko's experience outside the cumbersome party machine is limited, and he has failed to project an image of strong leadership. The impression has no doubt been reinforced by his unfortunate tendency to stumble over long words while reading prepared speeches.

Still, Brezhnev's protege could find a place in a troika of the old guard that might include such other also-rans as Premier Nikolai Tikhonov, 78, or powerful Moscow Party Boss Viktor Grishin, 69. Grishin remains a favorite compromise candidate. He has an insider's view of the party bureaucracy and saw something of the world when he traveled abroad as leader of the official trade unions movement. A younger member of the old elite, Grishin is not likely to rock the boat and could lead a caretaker government, but he lacks a position on the party Secretariat.

Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko, 74, moved up one rung in the hierarchy last March when he was unexpectedly promoted to the post of First Deputy Premier. It was a clear indication that Gromyko had emerged, along with Defense Minister Dmitri Ustinov, as a key power-broker in the post-Brezhnev era. But after more than 26 years as Foreign Minister, during which he has worked with nine U.S. Secretaries of State, the "Grim Grom," as he is known in Western diplomatic circles, has not built a political power base at home. Gromyko has never appeared overly ambitious to hold his nation's highest office. A dark horse, he is more likely to stay in the stable or to find himself, like Chernenko, hitched to a troika.

As a representative of the one sector in Soviet life that appears to work, Ustinov, 75, may have the best qualifications for the party's top job. During Andropov's decline, Ustinov had already moved to the forefront to enunciate official policy on arms control and Soviet missile deployment in Eastern Europe. A mechanical engineer who spent most of his career building up the defense industry, Ustinov is keenly aware of the chronic bottlenecks in Soviet production that have accounted for sluggish economic growth. Should the ruling elite feel nervous about turning the Soviet Union's pressing agenda of problems over to an unseasoned "youth," Ustinov might prove an ideal choice as a regent in a transitional regime.

But if the steady rise of the Soviet military Establishment over the past decade has enhanced Ustinov's power, it may ultimately keep him from becoming party leader. Ustinov does not currently have a foothold in the Secretariat. Indeed, the aging defense planner may be too closely linked to the military for the comfort of many party bureaucrats. Says Daniel Papp of the Georgia Institute of Technology: "Some people will oppose Ustinov for precisely the same reason that others will support him, because of his strong identification with the military-industrial complex of the Soviet Union."

Even if the leadership did want to give power to a younger man rather than risk elevating another aging leader whose tenure could rapidly turn into a death watch, the choice was very limited. Brezhnev all but closed the upper ranks of the party to youthful aspirants. Only two younger contenders are now vying for the top party post:

>Mikhail Gorbachev, 52, represents a new breed of better-educated Soviet technocrat. The son of peasants from the rich farming region of Stavropol in southwest Russia, Gorbachev holds a law degree from Moscow State University and another degree in agronomy from the Stavropol Agricultural Institute. His knowledge of farming, the weak link in Soviet economic planning, won him a place in the Secretariat and catapulted him into the Politburo's inner circle at the tender age of 49. Continuing failures on the farm have cut short the careers of past agricultural experts, but Gorbachev appears to be flourishing even though he has presided over a string of bad harvests (before the much improved 200 million-ton yield in 1983).

Canadian officials had a chance to size up the Kremlin's rising young star when Gorbachev led a parliamentary delegation to Ottawa in May 1983. A balding man of medium height with a birthmark on his forehead that is airbrushed out of official portraits, Gorbachev exudes confidence, authority and a willingness to learn. As he traveled to Ontario and Alberta visiting large family-owned farms and agricultural processing plants, Gorbachev repeatedly asked questions about Western farming techniques.

Gorbachev's Canadian hosts were impressed by his performance at a joint session of the Senate and House of Commons foreign affairs committee. Responding to tough questions about Soviet arms policy, the Middle East and human rights, Gorbachev presented official Soviet positions calmly and succinctly. He responded testily only when he was asked about KGB activities abroad. The notion that the Soviet Union was exporting revolution, said Gorbachev, was "nonsense, fit for the speech of uneducated people."

Gorbachev is thought to have been a personal favorite of Andropov's. He was chosen to give the keynote address at the April 22, 1983, ceremony honoring Lenin's birthday, a speech characterized by a calm, businesslike approach to national problems. Gorbachev is also said to have been given the additional responsibility of helping to make party personnel decisions. When John Chrystal, an Iowa businessman, was received at the Kremlin in November, it was Gorbachev who passed along a message from the ailing Soviet leader. Had Andropov lived longer, Gorbachev might have been groomed as heir, but his relative youth could keep him from assuming power this time around.

>Grigori Romanov, 61, is thought by some Western observers to be the odds-on favorite to succeed Andropov. A shipbuilding designer from the region of Novgorod, northwest of Moscow, he earned a degree through correspondence courses and night school. Romanov eventually became leader of the Leningrad party organization and was promoted to full membership in the Politburo when he was only 53. In June 1983 he was brought to Moscow to assume a post on the Secretariat, strengthening his position as a contender. Looking dapper and self-assured with every strand of his silver hair in place, Romanov delivered the main address at the Kremlin gathering five months later to mark the 66th anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution.

Romanov has the unflattering reputation of being abrasive and arrogant. Sovi ets quip that the imperial manner comes with his surname, the same as that of the Russian royal family, which was deposed in 1917. According to a widely told anecdote, Romanov ordered Leningrad's Hermitage museum to open its china clos ets so that guests at his daughter's wedding reception could eat in grand style. Several priceless items from Catherine the Great's dinner service were broken during the revelry. One U.S. diplomat who met with Romanov was taken aback when he rudely interrupted his interpreter to correct the translation of one of his titles. Recalls the American visitor: "The impression Romanov gave was one of boorishness and arrogance. He strutted around as if he were lord of all he surveyed."

Unlike most Soviet leaders, Romanov has traveled widely outside the Soviet bloc. He has been to neighboring Finland five times, France twice, and to Italy and Norway. Last January he traveled to West Germany to attend a Communist Party congress. But increased exposure to the outside world does not appear to have mellowed him much. Romanov once told a visiting U.S. delegation that he found it hard to believe that the leaders of the Democratic Party could not take steps to discipline members who did not follow the party line. Given Romanov's strong ties to the defense industry, such dogmatic views might enhance his appeal to the old guard and overcome whatever reluctance they might feel to hand the reins of power back to someone named Romanov.

Geidar Aliyev, 60, from the Muslim Transcaucasian Republic of Azerbaijan, is the most prominent of the other young contenders. Shortly after Andropov succeeded Brezhnev, Aliyev was promoted to full Politburo membership and named First Deputy Premier. Even if Aliyev is passed over, says Cornell's Rush, "he certainly has a future as somebody's strong-arm lieutenant."

Vitali Vorotnikov, 58, a party bureau crat whom Brezhnev once banished to the Soviet embassy in Havana, advanced rapidly under Andropov. But he is too new to the Politburo to figure prominently in this race. The handful of men who govern the Soviet Union now stand at a great historical and psychological divide. Most of them can measure the history of the Communist regime by the decades in their lives. They were born and reared amid revolution, reached maturity during despotism and global war, and grew old building a fortress nation second to none. As they choose a successor to Andropov, the old guard may feel reluctant to pass this awesome legacy to an untried younger generation, as if the transfer were somehow not inevitable. But the paradox remains that the longer the old men cling to power, the more they endanger the very thing they have sought to preserve: stability. -- ByJohn Kohan. Reported by Erik Amfitheatrof /Moscow and Raji Samghabadi/New York, with other bureaus

With reporting by Erik Amfitheatrof, Raji Samghabadi