Presiding over a new Soviet Congress, Gorbachev gets a clamorous lesson in democracy

By William R. Doerner

"All of us today are just learning democracy. We are only now forming a political culture."

-- Mikhail Gorbachev at the Congress of People's Deputies

From the opening moment, when the spotlights flicked on to illuminate a towering statue of Lenin, it was clear that the days of fully scripted, party- orchestrated politics had -- at least for a moment -- come to an end. Assembled in the Kremlin's Palace of Congresses were the delegates to the Soviet Union's brand-new Congress of People's Deputies, a forum where doctrine could be questioned, where the unexpected could happen, and where the unmentionable could be spoken for all the nation to hear.

All of which came to pass, over three days of debate. The 2,250-seat Congress, two-thirds of whose delegates were freely elected, constitutes what is arguably the most democratic governmental institution in more than seven decades of Soviet rule. But the assembly also revealed a profound regard for the status quo in carrying out one of its principal jobs: the election of 542 members of the Supreme Soviet, which will serve as the country's working legislature. In voting results announced Saturday, most anti-establishment candidates, some of whom had defeated high-ranking Communist Party members to reach the Congress, lost their bids to be seated in the Supreme Soviet. The rebuffed reformers included Boris Yeltsin, the former Moscow party chief who resigned his post in the Construction Ministry earlier in the week, partly in anticipation of being elected to the Supreme Soviet. Only in delegations from Moscow and the Baltic region, a seedbed of reform, did a handful of reformers gain election to the permanent legislature. The results were a severe blow to advocates of change, who seldom attracted more than a third of the body's delegates in major votes.

Any suspicion that the Congress would turn into a totally rubber-stamp legislature, however, was dispelled minutes into the opening session, when a Latvian delegate strode uninvited to the podium. "I ask you to honor the memory of those who died in Tbilisi," urged the gray-bearded man, referring to the 20 demonstrators killed in the Georgian capital in April, some reportedly with poison gas, during clashes with army troops. That request, which prompted the delegates to rise for a moment of silence, was not merely unrehearsed, it was an explicit act of defiance that went against Gorbachev's wish that no ethnic group be singled out for sympathy.

That was just the first in a series of moments of surprise and spontaneity that rocked the historic convention, which continues this week. No sooner did Gorbachev rise to chair the session than a delegate stepped forward to challenge the agenda, which had been set in a rump party session the day before by 446 delegates. "Please, People's Deputy Andrei Dimitreyevich Sakharov," invited Gorbachev as the stoop-shouldered Nobel Peace laureate -- his country's best-known dissident -- took the microphone. Sakharov, who only 2 1/2 years ago was enduring exile in the city of Gorky, expressed concern that the Congress was ceding too much legislative power to the smaller, indirectly elected Supreme Soviet. With the Congress preparing to elect a President to a newly restructured and more powerful office, Sakharov urged that the leading candidate, Gorbachev, be required to defend his record. "I do not see any other person capable of leading our country, but my support is conditional," said Sakharov. "I believe that discussion is necessary and that the candidates should give a report."

Gorbachev heard far blunter words than Sakharov's as the day wore on. Leonid Sukhov, a driver from Kharkov, stunned the assemblage by comparing Gorbachev "to the great Napoleon, who fearing neither bullets nor death, led the nation to victory, but owing to sycophants and his wife, transformed the republic into an empire." Marju Lauristin, a prominent Estonian nationalist, asked who in the ruling Politburo "knew in advance that troops would be used in Tbilisi." Others complained about Gorbachev's failure to improve his people's standard of living and mentioned rumors that he is building a fancy dacha for himself on the Black Sea in Crimea. Even the man who stood up to nominate Gorbachev for President, author Chingiz Aitmatov, did so with a few cavils. Gorbachev, he said, had made "serious mistakes," notably a failure so far to turn around the country's faltering economy and to keep a lid on ugly ethnic rivalries.

In the end, Gorbachev did indeed give a "report," an emotional and apparently extemporaneous 21-minute speech. Confronting and denying some of the allegations against him, he insisted, "During my entire life, neither I nor my family has had or has a dacha of our own." But he also owned up to "major mistakes and serious miscalculations" in managing the economy. Above all, Gorbachev stressed his commitment to the democratic process. "We must respond to all the questions, even the painful ones."

Despite such grandiose tributes to democracy, Gorbachev's candidacy was uncontested -- the first hint that the Congress was not out to rock the boat. An attempt was made to draft the popular Yeltsin, but he withdrew his name, citing party discipline. Leningrad engineer Alexander Obolensky, 46, a | political unknown, nominated himself -- not because he had any illusion of winning, he explained, but "to set a precedent" of contested elections. By 1,415 to 689, the assembly voted to keep Obolensky's name off the secret ballot. Gorbachev was elected President with 95.6% of the vote; 87 delegates voted against him.

The Soviet Union's lack of experience with the rough-and-tumble of democratic debate was obvious from the session's glitches. Deputies voted by waving white "mandate" cards in the air -- a feasible method for the near unanimous yea-or-nay votes of the past but hopelessly cumbersome in more evenly divided counts. Also noticeable were the usual inconveniences of the democratic process. Speakers were long-winded. When the Russian Orthodox Metropolitan Pitirim, one of seven clergy elected to the Congress, suggested that voluble Deputies be silenced by having their microphones switched off, delegates applauded enthusiastically.

The ridiculous, the embarrassing, the surprising -- TV cameras were recording it all for the whole nation to see. Gorbachev served by turns as circus ringmaster, traffic cop and soothing conciliator. Lithuanian newspaper editor Algimantas Cekuolis expressed sympathy for the President's predicament: "He is trying to be very democratic, but it's not so easy without a tradition of democracy. To try not to boss us around is a hard job for him."

Among the more provocative moments for Gorbachev were repeated references to the deaths in Tbilisi, which he insisted he had learned about only after the fact. And Gorbachev sought to defuse delegate anger over an incident at Pushkin Square the evening after the Congress opened, when police encircled crowds of Soviets seeking to meet with Deputies.

During this week's sessions, elections are scheduled for the offices of Prime Minister -- expected to go to the current holder of that office, Nikolai Ryzhkov -- and First Vice President, a post that the ever ambitious Yeltsin has hinted he may covet. Just how the new Supreme Soviet will go about its work as a standing parliament must also be decided. More important, the composition of the Supreme Soviet suggests that Gorbachev will be working with a legislature that is not wildly enthusiastic about radical reform.

With reporting by Paul Hofheinz and John Kohan/Moscow