Editors note: Solzhenitsyn was the rights favourite anti-communist propagandist during the Soviet era. Everything he said was taken as fact. Much in the same way Keir Starmer now calls the Adolescence Netflix TV show a “documentary”, the Liberals in the West would insist Gulag Archipalego was fact. Despite the fact it’s full title is Gulag Archipalago: An Experiment in Literary Investigation. In other words it was fan fiction conjured up in Solzhenitsyns brain. Liberals never mention Solzhenitsyns article he wrote in 1996 after the collapse of socialism and the restoration of capitalism in which he lamented Soviet collapse and the revolting conditions Russia was thrown back to. Sergei Glazyev would examine these conditions in his book, Genocide. To which he lamented the worst genocide in Russias history was imposed on them during 1990s capitalist Russia: “The rate of annual population loss has been more than double the rate of loss during the period of Stalinist repression and mass famine in the first half of the 1930s… There has been nothing like this in the thousand year history of Russia.”
Both Conservatives and Shit-Liberals alike in the West maintain a wall of silence of 1990s Russia and capitalist Restoration. Solzhenitsyns article written in 1996 adds more context to their foghorn of anti-communist propaganda and fake history.
Alexander Isaevich Solzhenitsyn, 1996. Source: "Novy Mir" 1996, No. 6
Who didn’t go hungry that year? Even though my father was the shop foreman, he didn’t take anything more and did not allow anyone to do so. And in the family—mother, Grandma, sister, and Dimka in his 17th year—how hungry we were! During the day at the machine, at night, my friend and I were fishing from a boat.
“And what kind of workshop does your father have?”
—”Katyusha shells. At the Kharkiv ‘Sickle and Molot’ factory, we worked so hard it was impossible to interrupt!—to the point that the city was already burning, almost to the Germans. They missed us, left under bombardment, and fled to the Volga.”
War? It seemed to be coming to an end, the fronts were retreating—but what would happen next? And also a summons—a call-up. And having already learned the coherence of my character and mind—in the spring of ’44, Dmitry passed the external exam above and beyond the 9th grade and for the 10th, yes, “with honors.” And from September, you could rush to the institute. But where? We pored over a reference booklet: “Universities of Moscow.” Oh, so many names, and more—faculties, departments, specialties—but what was hidden behind them? The devil knows. And—how would they decide? And—how would they decide?—but at the Energetichesky Institute, Shosse Entuziastov, it read: “three meals a day!” And this outweighed everything. (And I myself had outlined: legal? historical?) Well, such lightness in the legs—let’s roll!
And—they accepted me. Dormitory in Lefortovo. Only “three meals a day”—how was it calculated? Cabbage soup—one thing, a ladle of mashed rotten potatoes—two… And bread—550 grams, bad. So: study during the day, well, in the evenings and nights—loaders. They’d pay in cigarettes—go to the market and exchange a “ducat” for potatoes. (Well, my father helped.)
And in ’26, everyone was already being swept into the army. And in ’27—swayed, here and there. But—held on. And the war ended, that’s why.
The war ended—and it didn’t end. Stalin declared: now—to restore! And life went on along the same military rails, only without funerals, and: a year, and two, and three—to restore! Meaning—work, live, and eat as if the war was still going on. I was already in my 4th year, had saved 400 rubles to buy new trousers—and then a rumor rang out: reform! And—people rushed to savings banks, two lines at once: some depositing, others withdrawing. You couldn’t guess how it should be. And Mitya Yemtsov—he didn’t guess, went bankrupt, and no trousers. But there was also a gain right away: neither the stipend nor the salary was divided by 10, and ration cards—no more. And with the January stipend, they bought rye bread—in gluttony, and even tea with sugar. And the director of their institute was respectable, the powerful woman, Malenkov’s wife, also managed to secure increased stipends—Yemtsov received it too. So, he is strong.
Yes, it wasn’t only from food that I got stronger, and not only from studying. (They were selecting me for atomic energy and aviation automation—I chose the second, not realizing that otherwise, I’d have locked myself up for years as if in prison.) He was strong in public and Komsomol work.
It comes unnoticed and not by design: what we are worth—we only find out over the years and by how others perceive us (“not ordinary”). They all notice that you are naturally dynamic, that you serve the fastest suggestions on what the team should do; that your opinions prevail over others. So—sit on the presidium of the meeting! Will you give a report? Why not? And the words in the speech link easily. Whom to support, whom to expose? And the guys applaud. And they vote for you. And it’s so smooth, it goes without saying: Komsomol leader; from the 3rd year—faculty secretary; from the 5th—deputy general institute. (But for this, you already need to be a Party candidate. However, the Central Committee’s order: from 1948, to stop admission to the Party—meaning, too many were accepted during the war. But here—”accept as an exception Comrade Yemtsov”? There were front-line soldiers sitting at the Party meeting, and they started grumbling: Why—him? Why—an exception (for a puppy)? The audience was against. But the director stood up, presentable, confident—but whose wife? Who didn’t know that?—and said to the audience in a weighty tone: “There are some considerations for that.” And that’s it. They voted, and the front-line soldiers did too.)
And soon—you haven’t finished college yet, there will be no “distribution” for you—was hired by the Moscow city committee of the Komsomol as deputy head of the student youth department. (And what’s left to get to the institute—why take the tram? I called the city committee—and you go in a “Pobeda”; you call a second time—and from the institute, already to an apartment, not a dorm, again in a “Pobeda.”)
Yes, they gave you a blast of air, but in front of the guys, it wasn’t embarrassing at all because there was no crookedness in that: you didn’t achieve anything by cunning, but it worked out on its own. And also in the fact that the Komsomol affair was honest, true, even sacred! (The first time I entered the city Komsomol committee—well, like a believer in church, with bated breath.) And what is this—the gushing living stream of our dazzling common life: after such a global victory—and how they merge into the country’s restorative currents! And how the successes of grandiose construction thunder from everywhere! And you are a part of it, and you guide your student generation there, into these plans and these accomplishments.
And he wrote proudly to his father (he remained there, in his workshop, and the Volga—they were not returned to Kharkiv). Father could weigh what it meant to get ahead on his own. He was the son of a blacksmith but rose to become an engineer. And he took a wife from a Poltava noble family seeking a protective wing in the early Twenties. (And then he got very angry when she spoke French to her mother.) In 1935, he suffered the misfortune of being arrested for slander (the family was immediately oppressed, Schroeder’s piano ended up on its side in the basement)—but six months later, he was acquitted—and the wonder of this liberation further strengthened the father’s proletarian faith in the quality of our system, its innate devotion to the Leninist path.
But, well, something started to change in the city committee of the Komsomol? Not everyone here revered entering. And who, even in ideological ardor, lacked the pretense—it was evident, you couldn’t hide it. And really, your interests were giving way a little—they dragged you away by force. And someone was undermining someone to take a higher post. Suddenly—the second secretary of the city committee was found in the office on the sofa with the secretary. Well, and organizational conclusions…
Burn or not, but facts are also moving into our lives. Here’s a Fact: starting from the deputy head of the department and up, every month, a longish envelope of swamp color is pushed into your fingers—always the same. And it’s called a “package.” And inside—your monthly salary again, but this time the exact one, without deductions, taxes, loans. And you’d be lying if you insisted that this was unpleasant, unnecessary, unacceptable. It was somehow exactly acceptable—money would always come in handy for something.
He married a fellow student, but there was no honeymoon: after all, he had to work at the city committee, be on duty until two or three in the morning, like all of service-party Moscow, sleeping by Stalin’s will and habit. He arrived at four in this “Pobeda” home—how could he wake his wife? She had to get up at six to go by train to work.
And the affairs and duties expanded in scope. And they established the International Students’ Union (he communicated with Shelepin himself there), and included him in the general fight for peace, well, and then there’s the side job of writing speeches for major authorities, like: “We will not allow the clear sky of the homeland to be covered with the clouds of war again!” What work is hidden, what is not hidden—but it was in plain sight, and the head was held high.
And then—his father came to visit him on vacation. He stayed for a week. He listened to his son, took a closer look. But he didn’t express the paternal pride that Dmitry expected. Worse. He sighed and said: “Oh, you’ve gone into the driving seat. But you should be the one driving, in production. The business is only production.”
Dmitry was hurt, offended. He felt like he was in constant flight, and if it touched the ground, then it went—an ace. And suddenly—a chase?
Yes, my father only read “For Industrialization.” And he lived—”for the people’s happiness,” as he repeated more than once.
The son rejected it—as his father’s grumbling. But the weeks passed—and something inside began to drill, to suppress. Paternal condemnation—it turns out, it weighs heavily on the heart. He would have easily brushed it off from anyone else. But here?..
But wasn’t father right: what “business”? And you see for yourself: chatter, and chatter, and backstabbing, yes intrigues, yes drinking. Look at the employees—after all, they’re kings. And officials. And if you have abilities—where else can you go? (Only—for what exactly? It’s still unclear.)
But it was no longer easy to part with both the packages and the “Pobeda.”
The grindstone was in him, grinding. But it wasn’t easy to decide.
Suddenly, somehow rashly, thoughtlessly, he wrote a letter of resignation. And filed it.
But—what kind of statement? How can a Party member write a statement against the will of the Party? So this is an unstable element in our midst! And—they raised such a troublemaker, and gave Yemtsov such a hard time at the Party meeting—sat like a boiled lobster, and only acknowledged and acknowledged his guilt.
Yes, maybe it’s for the best. His career improved again. (And here are the assignment riddles: at one institute, students created, supposedly as a joke, a “Society for the Protection of Reptiles and Serpents.” But if you look at it insightfully?—after all, this is political subversive work.)
And here’s a major upheaval in Moscow: at the plenum of the Moscow City Committee—the usual first secretary Popov—so strong, imposing, unshakable—suddenly fell. (The intrigue was—Mekhlis, his enemy, and the decision—Stalin, clean out those who got fat during the war, and don’t make the accusations stingy: why did he build an asphalt road out of town right up to his mistress’s house, and no further?) Khrushchev was appointed instead of Popov.
And then the day of the Komsomol anniversary rolled around. The Komsomol activists were received in the St. George’s Hall, a banquet. The lively and generous Khrushchev, with a round, as if shaved head, promised: “Try! Try—and you will all be secretaries of the Central Committee!”
And suddenly some devil said something—Yemtsov jumped out without looking back:
—”Nikita Sergeyevich! Can I ask a question?”
—”You may.”
—”It’s been two years since I graduated from college, and my diploma is still lying in the nightstand. People in production—aren’t they needed? Ready to go where the Party sends.”
(And how it sounded!—in the St. George’s Hall. He admired his own courage.)
Khrushchev, without thinking twice, butted with his mobile bald head:
—”Comrade Sizov, I think the request can be considered?”
“Consider!”—from the lips of the leaders—that’s already an order! (He didn’t expect such a steep irreversibility! Hurried, jumped out?..)
Sizov called for an interview. In a friendly tone: “Why are you doing this? You should have told us. We would have promoted you to the Central Committee.” Well, that was a miss. “And where else do you want?”—”In aviation engineering.”—”VIAM? TsAGI?”—”No, straight to production!”
And it went through the ministerial apparatus—and they assigned him to the periphery. True, he chose the city where he came from, where his parents were. Intricate, our disguised names: “Aggregate Plant”—go figure out what’s hidden behind this? And behind this—aviation electrical equipment, autopilots, fuel dosage, but also consumer goods orders: set up production of household refrigerators, it’s a shame for us to lag behind Europe with such a gap!
According to the fame that “Khrushchev himself sent him,” he quickly became shop manager. (And from the city committee salary with the package—a drop of five at once, oh-oh! even the 30 rubles of “bread allowance” are already noticeable.) Only his workshop just—the release of refrigerators! Here, there’s an English model, only the task: to copy exactly. But the devil knows, they copied exactly, and some secrets were not grasped: in the circuit, either some tube gets clogged, or its own cold freezes completely. Buyers—return with complaints and curses, “it’s not cold!” shops—with complaints.
But the work was made easier by the fact that even in those years, the beginning of the ’50s, unquestioning discipline was still preserved at the plant, as if the war were still going on today, even on their “drunk factory,” as they called it in the city (they were given lots of alcohol to clean the equipment).
Stalin’s death was a shock! It’s not that they considered him immortal, but it seemed that he was an eternal phenomenon and could not cease to exist. People were crying. The old father cried. (The mother did not.) Dmitry and his wife cried.
And everyone understood that they had lost the Greatest Man. But no, even then Dmitry did not fully understand what kind of Great One he was—it took years and years to realize how the whole country received from him the Acceleration into the Future. This feeling of a continuing war would go away, but the Acceleration would remain, and only with them could we accomplish the impossible.
Yemtsov was, of course, not an ordinary person, not an ordinary person. He had an extraordinary mind, energy. The plant did not require so much institute knowledge as lively coping with equipment and people. He was almost never home again. But the son was already born—but when to raise him? There’s not a bit of time. But the main life lesson he received was from Director Borunov.
Several directors changed, they lasted for a year or a year and a half. The latter, and with him the chief engineer, were fired “for producing low-quality products”: commissions from the merciless State Control, from the prosecutor’s office, descended upon the plant, stopped it, interrogations in offices, everything was terrifying. And here a new Borunov, a tall, fertile, handsome man of about forty, became the director. Not a smile, no, but there was something shining on his face, a confident superiority: he knew how to fix any situation.
And—yes, it’s amazing! In two or three weeks, both the entire plant and the refrigerator shop became—different. People seemed to have fallen into a powerful electromagnetic field: they all turned in one direction, and they all looked there and understood equally. They told fables and details about the new director. (Here Yemtsov was on leave for a week, went on a winter fishing trip, and didn’t show up—I’ll call, and when I showed up, Borunov’s secretary: “He said: there’s nothing more in you needs.” And for three days, he did not allow anyone to see his face!) Suddenly he announced in January: “From February 1st, the plant will work rhythmically!” And on the demonstration boards behind every day, each workshop began to draw either a red column (fulfilled the plan) or blue (failed). And such an order went that with blue columns, life in the workshop was unbearable. So, cling, claw! Here, as if, let’s go refrigerators? And they can’t get the lattice shelves for them from the galvanic shop in time. A trifle, ugh!—but it’s impossible to hand over without them. The chief of galvanic begs: “You sign that you took it today, and I’ll deliver it tomorrow morning.” And a second time, and a third, but the shortage continues. Yemtsov refused, and he got a blue one. At the next planning meeting, Borunov: “Yemtsov—get out of here!” Yemtsov even raised his hands pleadingly: he was right! No, like before the cliff. Got hooked.
He was watching closely at the planning meetings: what is it that Borunov takes? After all, it’s not by shouting, not with a fist. A: he is sure that he is above any of his subordinates. Intellectually. Speed of thought interception. Wit. Striking accuracy of sentence. (But Yemtsov found all these qualities in himself!) With Borunov, it was impossible to argue. It was impossible not to fulfill.
But is it possible to overtake in guesswork—and offer your own? Here, they started coming intermittently and disrupted the entire plan of the relay from Kursk. Thoughtfully—to Borunov: “Give me a plane! Money! I’m flying with a team of fitters to Kursk?”
The director beamed and gave it right away. Yemtsov and his team were put in the Kursk plant
to regulate the relays, and the local meeting and rally was assembled. No matter how much we
It worked out! – and only red columns appeared.
Borunov didn’t remain director for long either. Only they didn’t fire him, they promoted him
to the regional committee secretary.
But during this short school Yemtsov grew a lot internally and learned: here – not
it’s about Borunov personally, and Borunov (or anyone else, or you) is on the crest
the great Stalinist acceleration, which will last us another half a century – a century. Here
The only rule: never listen to anyone’s explanations
(you will become weak in explanations, you will go sour, and you will ruin the business). But only: or the business
done – or not done. Then watch out!
And people have nowhere to go!! Compliance is unquestioning! And the whole system
- highly controllable. And soon he was already the chief technologist of the plant, even before he turned 30. And just over 30 – chief engineer. Here is the Party’s task: to establish the production of magnetrons – powerful generators ultra-high frequency oscillations, they will go into air defense, in locators. Samples? Here you go: here’s a German one, here’s an American one. Copy as much as you want, but with a magnetron the task is more tricky than with a refrigerator: how remove heat? and how to remove power? And it is not enough to simply generate high frequency – no, it must be in the narrowest range, otherwise it will not be possible to recognize targets. (On All the while, theoretical groups were sitting in design bureaus.) The years passed – the defense complex, scattered across the country, but connected reliable supply channels, solved one problem after another, until recently, seemed impossible to achieve. Khrushchev’s words (the godfather…) were already being reported: “Yes, now we make rockets like sausages on a conveyor belt.” But these rockets flew on the most precise course – that’s the problem with gyroscopes: for the speed of launch missiles they are constantly on – but because of that they wear out, and when it appeared in laser technology – they came up with a laser gyroscope, without rubbing parts and whose readiness is instantaneous. And Yemtsov, already accustomed to not freezing, always move without coercion, to seek new directions on your own, – he suggested to the minister and the head of the Central Committee’s defense department who arrived at the plant: assign the laser Give us the equipment! (The step was desperate! but he was carried away like a kamikaze.) Accepted. And immediately after – at the age of 33! – he became the director of the plant. It was in April 1960. And on May 1st, our missile shot down a plane. Powers. But – how? A few days later there was a major meeting at Ustinov’s – then already deputy chairman of the Council of Ministers, Khrushchev’s deputy for defense, but still with all his might for his own the former Ministry of Defense Industry. (And the young fresh director It was the first time I got to such a height.) And from the Ministry of Defense they came to led by Baidukov, and he, with a hoarse, ponderous voice, laid out the accusations that The military-industrial complex is failing the Soviet defense. Those damned American U-2s (a mocking coincidence of the name with our low-altitude plywood “corncob”) flew at altitudes not achievable for our fighters, while also confusing the locators by creating fake ones targets, threw metal strips, our system did not distinguish reliably the nature of the targets, and the guidance itself was still inaccurate – it’s sour grapes these planes. And now – Powers has passed our anti-aircraft systems unhindered. defense, even flew right over the Kapustin Yar anti-aircraft range in Nizhny Volga, from Iran crossed half of the USSR, they fired at it, but couldn’t shoot it down. (Instead of him, they shot down one of their own.) And only in the Urals did they shoot at him, in fact by chance. (And Powers preferred captivity to the suicide promised by the contract. with a needle. Then he published a book of memoirs and received money.) Then the whole incident presented it publicly in such a way that Khrushchev, at first, out of mercy, did not want to shoot it down. But You yourselves knew: what are you good for? It was obvious how hard and unpleasant it was for Ustinov – Yemtsov sat completely nearby, but not at the main table, but in a row of chairs along the wall. Ustinov, with a twitching of his longish face, was clearly looking for something to justify oneself, to whom should one give the floor so that he can provide resourceful arguments? And then – Yemtsov suddenly rose up, as once before Khrushchev, or when took on the production of laser gyroscopes – at once both fear and fearlessness, as in I would fly in the air without wings – will you take off or crash? – raised his hand ask for the floor, upwards and with a tilt towards Ustinov! (And inside: oh, I hope he doesn’t give it to me! At such high-level meetings it is more dangerous than on the battlefield, than on a minefield: a little a careless expression or a slight change in voice can already ruin you. However, his engineers convinced him that the solution was already close.) Ustinov saw the hand, but he didn’t risk giving it to the skinny upstart: what blurt out, in his youth? One general, another general, one director spoke, another director. And now every time Yemtsov raised (although internally – still timidly). Ustinov looked inquisitively into his eyes – and then Yemtsov felt how in his eyes lit up – and it went as a confident signal to Ustinov. And Ustinov clearly understood, received the signal. And – gave the word. Yemtsov jumped up with a spring in his step and began to speak energetically. He was also pushed by the other experience with a galvanic shop: yes, sometimes you have to admit it’s done – and not yet done! and with Kursk: we’ll make up for the failure later, and the red column should stand by all means! And although he knew that the Selection of moving targets was still not was getting better, – but it must get better! It must – according to the law of the great Acceleration! And shaking his head confidently, the generals assured him loudly:
- The problem of selecting high-flying targets has already been solved by us. In short
terms it will already be in practice.
They froze, even their mouths opened slightly.
And should we stop there? No, it’s not a complete victory yet. Now – very
concerned, but also arrogant: - In reality, we are already busy with another problem, and it is for everyone:
create a system for detecting low-flying targets. The Americans are constantly lowering
heights…
The meeting shook! During the break Ustinov grinned with a reward: “Well, no
disgraced the military-industrial complex.” And another prominent general grabbed Yemtsov by the arm (Yemtsov did not
managed to calculate – why him? then found out – he was losing his meaning, wanted
strengthen) and led him to some kind of almost marshal’s group: “Here we are…”
That’s all well and good, but also scary: what if it doesn’t work out? Yes, it might not.
it would have worked out… It could have, if not for Razgon! He had to repeat it in the summer
and at another meeting (the heads of the military-industrial complex were burning), that it seemed to be going as it should, but everything
hasn’t been done yet!
Here they won’t just ruin your career, they’ll put you in jail…
But he had Borunov’s experience: to be faster and more insightful than his own
subordinates, do not give them the initiative (and immediately pick up on everything smart).
To act on subordinates psychologically: blue bars cannot appear
for no reason! He already felt like a fierce producer and
enlightened director. Every now and then at night a car comes to his house: “conveyor belt
stopped!” or something like that, and he rushes to the plant. (Already about him
tell fable episodes.) And he believed in the possibility of miracles. It seemed
by natural laws of nature, such a process cannot be ordered in advance,
such a structure may not hold up, but there is also a psychological law:
“We’ll pull it out no matter what!!”
And – they pulled it out. For the 4th quarter of the same year, the plant received the banner of the Central Committee and
Council of Ministers, Director – Hero of Socialist Labor.
And then – takeoff, and takeoff, and takeoff. (Yes, by the eyes and habits of any
factory girl – and how long do we walk without touching these strings within ourselves?
felt his unshakable victory. After all, he had noble blood flowing through his veins
- The problem of selecting high-flying targets has already been solved by us. In short
- visible in the okata of the head and how he held it.) His plant, encrypted
renamed “Tesar”, – was now erected in new and new buildings,
recruited thousands of new workers. He produced microwave generators, hearts
locators, and complex power supply systems for them, and someone else – waveguides for
antennas, and someone else – computing complexes for locators. Sent
for searching signals must be of variable frequency so that the enemy does not have time
to get used to them and protect ourselves. The first anti-missile defense was built. Already
A “Moscow umbrella” was created: 140 devices for each of the four sides
light (they were especially waiting for it through the North Pole) with the discovery of flying missiles behind
a thousand kilometers – and these devices are in three zones: the internal ones then get the rest
what the external ones missed. And – a thousand targets are processed simultaneously,
and then they are distributed by electronic computers to the shooting areas
complexes: who should shoot at what target. (And here we are, in this umbrella,
overtook the Americans!!)
Then came the time of the split heads – we kept up with the Americans
and in the heads. And by the return locator signals they learned to distinguish
combat heads from show-off uncharged ones.
And – awards rained down on Yemtsov. And he lost count of these high
meetings, where he flew, and high offices, where, as they say, he almost
he opened any door with his foot (not any, of course). He even sat on the commissions for
editing the Central Committee’s resolutions. And how many of these mugs with drooping
cheeks and chins, almost no facial expressions and eyes, and lips opening only
slightly, by the inevitable necessity of pronouncing phrases – how many of them, towards
Dmitry Anisimovich reluctantly changed his innately hostile expression.
(This defense director was a stranger to them – too young, thin, agile, with
with inspired sparkling eyes and an aristocratic forehead.) And Dmitry
Fyodorovich Ustinov simply fell in love with Yemtsov.
(But – and the backbone of his career broke: Yemtsov’s close friend, the scientist
an electronics engineer, privy to many of our secrets, went to Europe to
conference – and did not return! – rebelled against the System! And – Yemtsov
was banned from leaving the country – for two decades! But it could have been much worse, and
would have been overthrown altogether. And, here’s how to understand this unwarned sudden
friend’s turn? It’s impossible to understand him at all, he lost his head. Not for the sake of the Western
the same benefits, and here he had enough. Freedom? – but what was it that he lacked
freedom? And personally – betrayal? What – “personally”! Because of the fugitive, I had to
throughout the missile defense system, change all codes, numbers,
names…)
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Yemtsov’s Legacy and the Fall of Tesar
Over these 20 years, “Tesar” continued to grow. The plant management moved into a marble palace. But the new workshops were also impressive—luxurious buildings built without concern for cost. It was no longer just one factory, but five factories together, enclosed in a single stone compound, including three Special Design Bureaus—more secret than the factories themselves. With 18,000 workers and employees, Yemtsov remained seated at the director’s chair—now permanently relocated to the new building—for nearly a quarter of a century. Maintaining his dry figure, lightness of gait, and sharp, intelligent look, he ruled imperatively, knowing how to put anyone in their place. He was over fifty.
At this age, it was no longer his wife who brought him joy with a second son, but the son himself—who filled Yemtsov with pride, fire, and hope, promising to carry on his legacy further into the future. His eldest son had long been independent, but hadn’t succeeded as hoped. But this second son—twenty years younger—what potential lay ahead!
And “Tesar,” with all its foundations, only expanded into the Volga land, capturing more residential and meadow areas with an extended fence. Yet its production, purpose, and work absorbed more and more of the Soviet defense system, becoming a Union-wide giant. Alongside it, its tireless director never tired of seeking new directions, research, and production.
Still, Yemtsov remained banned from leaving the country for two decades due to a former friend’s betrayal—an engineer who defected during a European conference. While the Central Committee still trusted him, the Special Department’s caution persisted.
The Decline of Soviet Defense
Yes, Soviet defense—and even offense—stood strong and effective. But by the early 1980s, under Reagan, it became increasingly clear that the USSR was falling behind in the arms race. This could not be allowed. However, those in power—old men sitting in chairs with dead eyes, furrowed brows, squinting, half-heartedly listening—were hostile to anyone beneath them in rank. How could one reach their dying consciousness?
Then came Gorbachev, who awakened hopes: We will come to life! Ligachev stood beside him, and Yemtsov was even invited to speak at the Politburo! In those days, when Kosygin’s reform was still fresh in memory, there was a glimmer of understanding that the economy needed restructuring—but cowardice, relaxation, and indifference caused everything to slip away.
Industrialists felt energized again, believing in the slogan: Now plan in a new way! Stimulate labor in a new way! And Yemtsov took to it eagerly, delivering impassioned reports to party audiences—even in the highest party school—on the new economic system and how it would save the country.
He was invited to lecture at a local university on “Fundamentals of Economic Policies of Socialism,” and he accepted. During this time, he developed a love for forbidden cybernetics, studying Ashby, and even incorporated elements of it into his course. He surprised himself by approaching everything from a systemic perspective. (The grateful university awarded him the title of candidate.)
But then the inflation of reform fizzled out like a punctured balloon. Faith cooled—only to rise again with Gorbachev. Updated with old theses, Yemtsov returned to the university to give lectures on modern industrial management—though now without the earlier cybernetic influence; after twenty years, keeping up was impossible.
Yet—Gorbachev? What destructive orders did he issue, gaffe after gaffe? The introduction of Labor Collectives—allowing worker councils to approve or reject ministry plans—was absurd! As if a cook would allow such interference in her own kitchen, let alone the director of a powerful, famous plant.
Worse yet, so-called “labor teams” were now allowed to choose directors. But what could they know about external relations, supreme authorities, currency purchases? Nonsense! A newspaper even opened a section titled: “If I Were the Director…”—a sign of the times.
Five years of “perestroika” passed in confusion. Solutions were found through trial and error, and by the end of the 1980s, connections between enterprises in the USSR had disintegrated completely. No supplier could be relied upon, and the once-mighty Tesar struggled to produce for itself.
When the Party finally collapsed, Yemtsov was among the first to feel the loss. He wasn’t concerned with medals or gold stars—he saw the Party as the Lever and Support of the nation. Without it, chaos reigned.
The Reform and the End of an Era
Exactly three weeks after the brainy beginning of reforms, on a cloudy late January day, Yemtsov received a telegram from the Ministry of Defense:
“Stop shipment of products. Code is this, code is this. Lack of finances.”
Alone in his large office, sitting in an old chair, Dmitry Anisimovich stared at the telegram—and felt goosebumps rise on his skin.
It was as if an evil spirit had flown low and close overhead. Or like a great bridge across a river wider than the Volga collapsing in an instant.
Forty-one years old, from St. George’s Hall, Yemtsov had risen from a production worker. At thirty-two, he was director of Tesar. Now, this telegram said: It’s the end of everything…
If the Ministry of Defense had no funds for reform after just three weeks, the industry would cease to exist. A wise man must see everything clearly—to the last back wall. This was, indeed, the end.
Yemtsov sat like that for an hour, didn’t turn on the light, and now it was completely dark in the office.
He lit the table lamp. He called the three presenters. And he commanded in a detached, dead voice—as if it were no longer about his own fate: “According to such a code, such a code—immediately stop issuing materials to workshops.”
This meant the Great Acceleration was over.
In those weeks, out of a hundred military directors, ninety-five rushed to Moscow to plead: “We will lose the technology! Give us a government order, and in the meantime we will work in the warehouse!” They feared privatization more than anything—a word as frightening as a sea monster.
Dmitry Anisimovich understood clearly, as if at Absolute Zero: Our electronics are finished. High technologies will perish irrevocably because industries cannot be preserved separately—they will always lack something essential.
The system would degrade entirely, no other way. Our high military technology would begin to collapse—irreversible decay.
Yet the Gaidar-Yeltsin-Chubais reform was brilliant in its correctness. Gorbachev’s half-heartedness demanded total destruction—to the very end! And only much later, perhaps not even by us, would Carthage be restored—but not to our liking.
Privatization and the Rebirth of Industry
When Yemtsov declared, “I am going to privatization!” the defense workers were furious.
“You’re full of henbane!” they shouted. “How can you even imagine this in our business: privatization? As long as we are alive, there will be no privatization!”
But months passed without salaries, and soon layoffs began. Workers crowded outside the plant, shouting and cursing the director. Yemtsov summoned them to the club for a meeting.
And—still thin, flexible like a reed, with a clear gaze and face—he stepped forward into the storm. He knew how to stun them now.
The hall roared. Yemtsov raised his thin hand with long fingers like a teacher’s pointer, and with ringing clarity in his voice, he spoke:
- “Who is to blame? Who elected the Supreme Council? Directors? Or workers? Did you vote for organizers, business executives, those who know the business? No!! You rushed to elect newly declared democrats—teachers of Marxism-Leninism, economics professors, journalists… Khasbulatov, Burbulis, Gaidar, Chubais—I can name thirty of them—who chose them?! Now go to them with your red banners and seek justice! I—am prudently saving you! I leave you unemployed, yes, but remember: in 1992, not later! You, from Tesar, will still have time to find a job or adapt. Whoever goes with banners for wages—that one will be left with nothing.”
The Rise of a New Generation
The Story of Alexey Tolkovyanov
An assassination attempt on a banker named Alexey Ivanovich Tolkovyanov occurred in a house on Karl Marx Street No. 15. There was an explosion in the entrance hall, but the banker survived and fled with his wife.
The regional Department for Combating Organized Crime received a signal about the incident late in the evening. Lieutenant Colonel Vsevolod Valeryanych Kosargin led the investigation. He remembered interrogating Alexei during student unrest in 1989, when he was suspected of instigating clashes with border cadets.
Now, years later, Tolkovyanov was a successful banker running the Trans-Continental Bank. Despite the attempt on his life, he remained calm and composed.
Kosargin reopened the case and pursued the truth. The trail led to a former associate, connected to a shadowy company known as Ellomas. The investigation revealed layers of corruption, crime, and betrayal.
Despite threats, Tolkovyanov refused to flee abroad. He believed Russia still had a future, even amidst chaos.
Science, Faith, and Survival
Even amid danger, Tolkovyanov followed scientific developments closely. He learned of experiments showing that radioactive irradiation increased the octane number of gasoline—an innovation with global implications.
Though sold to foreign buyers, the idea was Russian-born. Tolkovyanov believed science would rise again.
Meanwhile, personal tensions grew. Friends turned into rivals. Business partners split. Financial pressure mounted. He sought help from Yemtsov, who offered advice and encouragement.
Yet doubt crept in. Had he made the right choices? Would science ever recover?
In the end, Tolkovyanov held onto faith—not in politics, nor in money—but in the resilience of the human spirit.
