Konstantin Ustinovich Chernenko: Moving to Center Stage

“What will the West think?” That timeless refrain, heard so often throughout Russian history, was voiced by a puzzled Soviet official last week as he pondered the remarkable political comeback of Konstantin Ustinovich Chernenko. The official’s words were tinged with irony and embarrassment over what he considered to be the advanced age and limited qualifications of the man who had been selected by the Communist Party Central Committee to succeed Yuri Andropov. But they also betrayed a deep sense of uncertainty, even misgiving, that was felt around the globe as one of the superpowers went about its secret rite of political passage for the second time in just 15 months.

Only five times before has the world tried to peer through the Kremlin’s wall of secrecy to witness a changing of the guard.* The sixth transition, which brought Chernenko to the forefront, was announced at 1:57 p.m. Moscow time last Monday. It was as full of imponderables as any that had gone before. Why, for example, had the tiny circle of men who rule the Soviet Union risked another short-term regime and picked Chernenko, 72, the oldest man ever selected to hold the country’s most important position? How would that choice affect the lives—and indeed the spirits—of 274 million Soviets, who had watched Andropov begin to energize a cumbersome economic system only to leave the task undone?

For a world anxious about the arms race, could the appointment lead to a thaw in relations with the U.S. and the resumption of the nuclear arms negotiations that were ruptured when the Soviets walked out of the Geneva talks late last year (see following story)?

Because of the new Soviet leader’s long career as chief administrator of the Central Committee and as Leonid Brezhnev’s appointments secretary, many Western analysts had dismissed Chernenko as a faceless bureaucrat who would always be everyone’s second choice for the job. Now he was being seen as the last-gasp leader of a gerontocracy intent on keeping the younger generation from moving too quickly into the corridors of power. Said a Western diplomat in Moscow: “If Andropov had lasted another four months, I don’t think Chernenko would have made it.”

Much about Chernenko suggested that he had stepped into history straight from the Siberian village where he was born on Sept. 24,1911, only seven months and 18 days after Ronald Reagan. His open, almost cherubic face, with frosted brows that slant upward and icy blue eyes set in high Asiatic cheekbones, seemed unpretentious. As the new Soviet leader went through his paces last week, his dark suit appeared to hang awkwardly from his broad, slightly hunched shoulders. He seemed almost relieved after a Kremlin reception to enjoy a few private moments of male camaraderie with his elderly Politburo comrades, revealing a glint of gold as he smiled once or twice.

No sooner had Andropov been buried near the Kremlin wall last week than rumors began to circulate that Chernenko was not in the best of health. It was widely noted that he had disappeared for two months last spring, reportedly because of illness. As the new Soviet leader read a eulogy for Andropov from atop the Lenin Mausoleum, he spoke in short, icy gasps.

It was observed by a Western analyst—and such observations are both the meat and the bones of Kremlinology—that Chernenko seemed to breathe at least three times as often as his neighbor on the reviewing stand, Defense Minister Dmitri Ustinov, 75. Later, the new General Secretary was seen to be barely able to keep his arm raised in a salute as crack Soviet troops marched past.

After meeting Chernenko, British Social Democratic Leader David Owen, a physician, said that he thought the new Soviet leader was suffering from emphysema, a disease marked by shortness of breath.

Given the confusing circumstances of the latest succession, not the least of which was the fact that 93 hours passed before the Central Committee announced its decision, it was far too early to make judgments about Chernenko’s future or be definitive about the direction that his regime might take. The coming months would show whether he was capable of amassing the same power that his recent predecessors had or whether he would have to share the titles and trappings of Soviet rule with his colleagues on the Politburo.

Warned Dimitri Simes, a senior associate with the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace: “We overestimated Andropov. The danger now is to underestimate Chernenko.”

For the moment, the new Soviet leader, whatever his drawbacks, plunged vigorously into the mandatory round of receptions and speechmaking. In his international debut, he seemed intent both on exuding confidence and authority and on reversing his longstanding image as nothing more than Brezhnev’s loyal aide.

After a state funeral for Andropov in Red Square attended by thousands, Chernenko received more than 170 foreign dignitaries amid czarist-era splendor in the Kremlin’s Hall of St. George. Unlike his predecessor, who had engaged in reception-line diplomacy following Brezhnev’s funeral, Chernenko shook hands stiffly, his face rarely creasing into the smile of the practiced politician. He did not appear to greet such Communist stalwarts as Cuban Leader Fidel Castro or Polish Premier Wojciech Jaruzelski with any more enthusiasm than he greeted Vice President George Bush or British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

Whatever personal words Chernenko had were apparently reserved for private sessions, such as the meeting he held with Warsaw Pact leaders. He also conferred with Castro, Afghanistan Party Leader Babrak Karmal and Nicaraguan Junta Coordinator Daniel Ortega Saavedra. Chernenko pointedly snubbed Palestine Liberation Organization Chairman Yasser Arafat, whose leadership has been challenged by pro-Syrian rebels and who had to watch the funeral from a section reserved for the ambassadors of Western and neutral countries. China’s Vice Premier Wan Li, the highest-ranking Chinese leader to set foot in Moscow in more than two decades, was received by Soviet Deputy Premier Geidar Aliyev, in strict conformity with protocol.

Vice President Bush had traveled to Moscow to affirm President Reagan’s new commitment to improved superpower relations. He went into his private meeting with Chernenko wearing a tiny lapel pin from the U.S.-U.S.S.R. Trade and Economic Council that showed crossed American and Soviet flags. Bush described his 30-minute chat as “very tempered, very reasonable” and noted that he was returning home “with a certain sense of optimism.” According to the Vice President, Chernenko seemed self-assured and responded without using notes. “Mr. Chernenko conducted the meeting without turning from right to left for assistance,” said Bush. “He gave the impression of a man who has the potential to be a strong leader.”

When asked if the White House was pressing for a summit with the new Soviet leader, Bush would say only that the personal letter from the President, typed in English, that he had handed to Chernenko made no mention of “a date or specifics for a meeting.” Meanwhile, Reagan, who had visited the Soviet embassy in Washington on Monday to sign a book of condolences, was more outspoken in dampening speculation about a superpower summit. In a newspaper interview, he opposed the notion of a “get-acquainted” summit. Said the President: “You should have an agenda to have such a meeting that lays out the issues that we need to discuss.”

Encouraged by the warm reception she received during a visit to Hungary earlier this month, Britain’s Thatcher was also intent on improving relations with the Soviet Union. In her meeting with the leadership, she managed to strike a subtle balance between the stiffly formal Kremlin protocol and the more relaxed style of Western diplomatic gestures. TIME has learned that Thatcher, in consultation with Washington, hopes to expand bilateral meetings between East-bloc and Western foreign ministers in order to lay the groundwork for a possible superpower summit along the lines of the 1974 meeting between President Gerald Ford and Brezhnev in Vladivostok. Said Thatcher: “If there is to be progress on arms control, it will come not through negotiating skill alone but because a broader understanding has been reached.”

French Premier Pierre Mauroy came away from his session with Chernenko, whom he had met in Paris two years ago, confident that Soviet-French relations were on the mend. West German Chancellor Helmut Kohl had the feeling that the new Soviet leadership was “weighing its words.” Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau saw hope in the fact that “there was a repetition of the use of the word détente and a real continuity with the Brezhnev spirit.” But Chernenko gave Western leaders no hint that the Soviet Union was about to change its position on the new NATO missiles in Europe. Reports on Chernenko’s round of meetings carried by the official news agency TASS were decidedly more guarded than most Western assessments.

Muscovites watched from a distance as the diplomatic motorcades, led by blue-and-yellow police cars, crisscrossed the Soviet capital. They also gathered in front of television sets for news of what was transpiring in the Kremlin. For many, the stiff, unsmiling black-and-white portrait of Chernenko that appeared on the screen seemed to say it all. Soviets morbidly joked that if they had missed the Andropov funeral, they would “catch the next one.” A man overheard on an elevator offered his own explanation of the succession: “Chernenko couldn’t make it the first time when he was competing with Andropov. Now that the better man is gone he’ll get his chance.” Said a worried Moscow housewife: “We are going back to the old ways. Andropov was a strong leader and a strict disciplinarian. Chernenko is like Brezhnev, softer. The Soviet people need someone who will make them work.”

In his acceptance speech before the Central Committee, Chernenko tried hard to allay the misgivings he must have known many of his countrymen felt. “Continuity,” he said, “is not an abstract notion. It is a living, real cause.” He praised Andropov and urged that the best tribute the nation could pay the late Soviet leader would be to “carry on and further advance” his work. But Chernenko also called on party activists to “realistically evaluate what has been accomplished, neither exaggerating nor belittling it.”

The Kremlin’s new master offered no bold foreign policy initiatives. He restated his nation’s commitment to the principle of “peaceful coexistence” and railed against the “reckless, adventurist actions of imperialism’s aggressive forces.” The Soviet Union, he said, did not seek military superiority, but would not allow others to upset the strategic balance. In a passage that must have pleased the military establishment, he promised to “see to it that our country’s defense capacity be strengthened, that we should have enough means to cool the hot heads of militant adventurists.”

Chernenko balanced his tough words with vague assurances that Moscow recognized that it had a responsibility for “preserving and strengthening peace.” Said he: “We are for a peaceful settlement of all disputable international problems through serious, equal and constructive talks. The U.S.S.R. will cooperate in full measure with all states that are prepared to assist through practical deeds to lessening international tensions.” Washington analysts carefully scrutinized such passages last week, looking for signals that the new regime might be more amenable to finding a way out of the superpower deadlock.

The main order of business for Chernenko, however, was the Soviet economy, which has been plagued by slower growth and widespread inefficiency. Borrowing some of the very words that Andropov had used in several speeches, Chernenko complained about “slackness” and “irresponsibility,” noting that they “inflict serious social, moral damage.” According to Chernenko, the whole Soviet economic machine was in need of “serious restructuring.” Said he: “We expect from our economic executives more independence at all levels, a bold search and, if necessary, a well-justified risk in the name of increasing the effectiveness of the economy and ensuring a rise in the living standards of the people.”

Drawing on his long experience in the Soviet bureaucracy, Chernenko advocated a clearer separation between the work of the party and that of state and economic organizations. The result, he said, would be less duplication of effort. Said he: “Workers at municipalities, ministries and enterprises do not display the necessary independence, but shift to party bodies the matters that they should handle themselves.” If such practices continued, warned Chernenko, they would weaken the party’s political role. He reaffirmed that the party’s strength must be “its contact with the masses” and “their practical attitude to production matters, to problems of public life.”

Judging from Chernenko’s speech, the new Soviet leader seems intent on doing just what his predecessor did—at least for the immediate future. In the area of foreign policy, Chernenko does not appear to be any more willing than Andropov to resume nuclear arms talks. Nor does he seem to be eager for an early summit meeting with Reagan. Given Chernenko’s limited experience with diplomacy and defense, he will probably rely on the advice of two Politburo veterans, Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko and Defense Minister Ustinov. Richard Thomas, director of the Center for Strategic Technology at Texas A&M University, believes that Chernenko will “rest on the oars a bit, see how the wind is blowing and move accordingly.”

The same principle may apply to the new leader’s handling of domestic problems. Chernenko will probably continue the limited economic experiments that Andropov began, which give some enterprises the power to make decisions more independently of centralized control. He has given indications that he wants to pursue Andropov’s campaign for greater discipline and efficiency. The former leader had cracked down on absenteeism and drunkenness on the shop floor and on corruption in government ministries. But Chernenko is a conservative by instinct, with more experience in carrying out than in initiating policies. Says French Sovietologist Hélène Carrère d’Encausse: “He might adopt the themes of the anticorruption campaign, but he will keep the debate ideological and will avoid making waves.”

As Chernenko moved to take control, Kremlinologists set about the task of unraveling the mystery surrounding the new leader’s rise to power. A Western envoy concluded that Chernenko’s acceptance speech was almost three times as long as Andropov’s because he had to please more factions. Many Soviet experts viewed the delay in announcing a new leader as an indication of serious divisions within the Politburo. But in fact there was no concrete information about what took place between Andropov’s death and the announcement of Chernenko’s elevation.

With the benefit of hindsight, many experts concluded that Chernenko’s election was predictable. For months his name had appeared near the top of the lists of dignitaries who signed official obituaries. Chernenko’s collected writings and speeches were reprinted amid glowing reviews in the press. When workers nominated their candidates for next month’s elections to the Supreme Soviet, the nominal parliament, Chernenko along with Premier Nikolai Tikhonov, 78, consistently placed second, after Andropov. The selection of Chernenko as chairman of the funeral committee was the final hint.

But how had Chernenko staged his political comeback? According to speculation at the time of Andropov’s election, Chernenko had been passed over because of his close ties to the Brezhnev bureaucracy. According to this theory, the party apparatus, and hence Chernenko, had lost out when Defense Minister Ustinov tipped the balance in support of Andropov, who had been head of the KGB for 15 years and shared the military’s concern for discipline and efficiency. The actual explanation may have been far simpler. Andropov’s colleagues on the Politburo apparently considered him to be the more qualified of the two. But once Andropov’s health began to fail, Ustinov, Tikhonov and Gromyko evidently decided to line up behind Chernenko rather than throw their support to a younger contender whom they considered too inexperienced for the job. It was Tikhonov who eventually nominated Chernenko in the closed Central Committee meeting.

Chernenko may be well suited to serve as chairman of the board in what could prove to be the most collective Soviet leadership since the first years of the Brezhnev era. A major test of his personal power will come when the Politburo decides who will assume two other posts left vacant after Andropov’s death: the largely ceremonial position of Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet, in effect President, and Chairman of the Defense Council, a shadowy group that oversees national security policy (see chart). If Chernenko fails to be named to either post, he may prove to be little more than a caretaker.

Just as Andropov promoted several of his own men into the party machinery, Chernenko could use his power of appointment to consolidate control. But he too may run out of time. For the second time, the Politburo has postponed handing authority to the younger generation, represented by Geidar Aliyev, 60, Mikhail Gorbachev, 52, Grigori Romanov, 61 and Vitali Vorotnikov, 58. One of Chernenko’s most pressing tasks will be to find ways of moving men like these into positions of power without threatening the old guard. One possibility is to give one of the “youths” the job of Premier, now held by Tikhonov.

There were signs last week that the logjam at the top had finally begun to break. Soviet officials hinted to members of the French delegation that Gorbachev who is responsible for agriculture, had emerged from the Central Committee session as the No. 2 man in the leadership and that he might soon be given “a high rank in the state bureaucracy.” If Andropov had been grooming Gorbachev to succeed him, as had been widely thought, Gorbachev was apparently shrewd enough not to press his claims now. In a move that could be significant, he gave the closing address at the party meeting that elected Chernenko; when Andropov was named, that honor had gone to Chernenko. Another hint of Gorbachev’s rise in status came when he stood at Chernenko’s right as the leadership paid its respects to Andropov at the neoclassical House of Trade Unions. Gorbachev later assumed a prominent position among the pallbearers at the funeral.

Since the Central Committee session was closed to the public, it was during Andropov’s burial ceremony that Soviets heard Chernenko speak for the first time as leader of the Communist Party. The performance did not inspire confidence. Standing atop the dark red marble Lenin Mausoleum in 23° F weather, Chernenko read the prepared text of his eulogy haltingly, almost gasping his words. He restated briefly the main foreign policy themes of his address to the party plenum. Noting that the Soviet Union was ready “for honest talks on the basis of equality and equal security,” Chernenko also warned that “we will not be scared by threats.” His voice sounded thin and quavering as he said, “Farewell, our dear friend and comrade, Yuri Vladimirovich! Your bright image will remain with us forever.”

In contrast, Gromyko and Ustinov seemed poised and assured as they stepped to the podium, conveying the impression that the foreign policy Establishment and the military were strong pillars of the new regime. In a resonant baritone, Gromyko stated bluntly that “those who are pursuing a policy of militarism, the mad arms race and interference in the internal affairs of other countries should renounce this policy and substitute for it a policy of peace and cooperation.” Ustinov added his own forceful commentary. Ten times he invoked Andropov’s name, praising the late Soviet leader for his “unflagging attention to securing a reliable defense.”

The funeral rites had unfolded with solemn precision, a fitting tribute to a leader who had stressed discipline and order. As the strains of Chopin’s Funeral March sounded over and over again in mournful monotony, the procession set off from the House of Trade Unions toward Red Square along 600 yards of streets that had been brushed clean of ice and snow. A burial plot had been marked off for Andropov in the special cemetery along the Kremlin wall reserved for prominent Communist leaders. Appropriately, Andropov was buried alongside Felix Dzerzhinsky, the man who in 1917 had founded the security agency that grew into the KGB empire that Andropov ran before becoming party leader.

Two generals led the funeral parade, carrying a large portrait of Andropov. His full-cheeked, almost youthful face contrasted dramatically with the skeletal, almost alabaster profile that thousands had glimpsed while filing past his coffin. A sea of red floral wreaths followed, adding a brilliant touch to a procession colored mostly in drab grays and black. Then two officers in tall Astrakhan hats appeared, carrying the late leader’s 21 medals, including Orders of Lenin and Orders of the Red Banner of Labor on red satin pillows. It was exactly half the number of medals that had accompanied Brezhnev to his grave.

Finally the coffin, draped in red and black cloth, came slowly into view, resting atop a gun carriage drawn by an olive-green military scout vehicle. Walking immediately behind were the members of Andropov’s family: his son Igor and his daughter Irina, who was wearing a stylish red fox coat. Andropov’s widow Tatyana, whose existence was not publicly known before Andropov’s death, was too grief-stricken to join in the procession. The Politburo leaders, almost indistinguishable from one another in their fur hats and look-alike overcoats with red armbands, led the last group of official mourners.

In life, Andropov was a figure far removed from the world of average Soviets. The tears of distraught family members made him seem more human in death. Before the lid could be closed on Andropov’s coffin, his wife bent to kiss his pale forehead. She tenderly caressed his sparse hair and then kissed him again. She had behaved at that moment of grief as any Russian woman would. For many Soviets witnessing the scene on their television screens, that moving glimpse of private pain seemed to cut through the hundreds of thousands of words that spewed forth in official obituaries and were scarcely different from those that had marked Brezhnev’s passing.

At exactly 12:45 p.m. Tuesday, Andropov’s coffin was lowered into the ground 50 feet from the Kremlin wall. From the Moscow River, foghorns blared, joining with sirens, wheezing factory whistles and rolling gunfire in a mournful cacophony. When the noisy tribute had ended, an eerie silence hung for five minutes over Red Square—and the nation. Then Chernenko and his eleven comrades on the Politburo regrouped on the mausoleum to review troops from the Moscow garrison, parading briskly past them to the strains of a stirring march. The Andropov era, brief as it was, had ended.

As the Chernenko regime began last week, workmen dismantled the enormous portraits of the late leader and took down the red and black bunting that had shrouded the Soviet capital during four days of mourning. The hammer-and-sickle flags above the Kremlin were raised again to full staff. Most dead Soviet leaders vanish quickly into history. It was not clear how much of Andropov’s legacy would survive the transition. For the moment, the watchword appeared to be continuity. Said a senior British diplomat:

“Making haste slowly is likely to be the policy.” After months of stasis and drift, the Soviet colossus may begin to move again. —By John Kohan. Reported by Erik Amfitheatrof/Moscow, with other bureaus

* Joseph Stalin became party leader in 1922. After his death in 1953, Georgi Malenkov briefly held the post, but he soon gave way to Nikita Khrushchev. Leonid Brezhnev took over in 1964, and Andropov succeeded Brezhnev in 1982.