1 feel like an intruder when I readnthis book. This has to do with itsn”secrecy,” with the fact that Solzhenitsynnwrote it without intending to publish it.nIt is also because in some important sensenit is written not for the whole world, butnfor Russians and the other nationalitiesnsubjected to the Soviet regime. Whennhe wrote this work, Solzhenitsyn did notnthink of audiences living in freedomnbeyond Soviet frontiers. In this his workncontrasts with Nadezhda Mandelstam’snHope Against Hope and perhaps alsonwith Andre Amalrik’s InvoluntarynVoyage to Siberia. Mandelstam somehownwrites for the whole world. As a resultnwhen you read her you do not doubt thatnher story is part of Western history, notnmerely of Soviet history—and the moralnsense is deeper. It is deeper because shenknows what goes on within the SovietnUnion is a part of Western history. Itnmight be, in fact, merely “an internalnaffair” as the Soviet regime asserts ifnthere were agreed upon frontiers innEurope and a peace treaty. But the pointnabout history in the twentieth century isnthat it neither respects frontier, nor thendistinction between foreign and domesticnaffairs: if it would, the KGB would donabroad exactly what it does at home.nBut there is another, perhaps deepernreason, for the sense of intrusion Inexperienced in reading Gulag. Solzhenitsynnreally doubts whether anybody whonhas not been in the camps can understand.nIn part he doubts anybody cannunderstand, because he himself did notnunderstand until he was arrested at thenfront in Prussia in February 1945 andnsent to the camps. Only then did hendiscover the other Russia. As a youth innthe late thirties, he had seen through thentrials of 1937 and 1938 (he was interestednin politics). But he had not understoodntheir relation to everything elsengoing on before his eyes, to the studentsnand teachers disappearing from the university.nHe saw them go but he did notnwonder where they went; he had continuedndancing and having loving affairs,nas if nothing had happened. He says ofnhimself and his wife in 1941: “We hadnjust lived through the thirties—and wenmight as well not have been alive in thatndecade at all.” “And young men are soneager to believe that all is well.”nThis doubt that you can know anythingnbefore it hits you runs through the wholenwork, but in the last volume it growsnoverwhelming and turns into a question,na terrible question: did the zeks not resistnenough, were they in some sense complicitnwith their tormentors.-* Reviews ofnIvan Denisovich in the Soviet press whichnin reckless arrogance argued Denisovich’sndocility spurred Solzhenitsyn to ask thisnquestion of himself and his reader.nWere the zeks submissive.” Yes, generally.nSolzhenitsyn speaks in baffled admirationnand with something like envy ofnthose rare individuals in the camps whonwere naturally independent, whonbreathed an inner confidence and nevernsuffered any abuse. But why was therenalmost no protest or defiance.” Becausenin contrast to the late nineteenth andnearly twentieth century under the Tsars,nin Soviet Russia there is no longer anynpublic opinion. “The prolonged absencenof any free exchange of informationnwithin a country opens up a gulf ofnincomprehension between whole groupsnof the population, between millions andnmillions. We simply cease to be a singlenpeople, for we speak, indeed, differentnlanguages.”nSolzhenitsyn rightly considers hisnwork and action and the work and actionnof the other “dissidents” the rebirth ofnpublic opinion in Russia. And new groupsnand new individuals keep springing upnand works keep appearing in selfpublication—evennthough in the freenWest some observers somehow expectnthings to stop.nIn the fifties, before the death of Stalin,nhowever, something happened in thencamps. Those who were in the campsnfor no special reason {he calls them politicalsnbut in the second volume he hasnmade it clear that they were not politicalnprisoners in any “legal” sense but simplynprisoners who had not committedncrimes) were separated from the thievesnand murderers and put into specialnnncamps. No longer kept apart from eachnother by criminals who robbed them theynbegan to experience something like community.nThey began to realize that theynwere not merely a collection of individualsnand became in some sense a whole.nThey realized that there were things morenimportant than survival if the price wasnthe life of another. This awareness inspiredndefiance—not violence.nThere was a strike in which prisonersnrefused to go to work and refused to takenfood from the camp administrationn(something he later came to consider anmistake). Even prisoners who were nearndeath, “goners,” refused food. The peoplenin charge were baffled.nFor the first time they treated thenprisoners with some regard and askednthem politely to return to work. Thenprisoners continued to strike. They didnnot ask to be released because they wereninnocent—but they asked for better treatment,nfor no bars on the windows, for anreview of cases. In this defiance evennthough they were starving even morenthan usual there was energy and even ankind of joy. They were no longer ashamednbecause they knew they would no longernundergo any humiliation to survive. Theynalso fashioned a kind of government.n(More than the other two this volumenmeditates on what distinguishes societynfrom a crowd. More than once itnreminded me of Hobbes, except thatnSolzhenitsyn is less afraid thannHobbes—and he does not write of humannbeings but of Russians and not of societynbut of prison camps in a country whichnis in the state of nature but deniesnit—something Hobbes did not dream ofnin his philosophy.) Their leaders made itnclear to the stool pigeons that they wouldnkill them if they continued to inform onnthem. Some innocent men were killedn(and Solzhenitsyn does not take any ofnthe killing lightly) but their readiness tonrid themselves of the prisoners whonbetrayed them made it possible for themnto trust each other, to experience somethingnlike community for the first time.nBut they did not know what to ask forn(beyond their few demands.) That is, theyndid not ask for freedom. When the peoplenChronicles of Culturen