Paul Dragos Aligica and Simona Preda: The Institutionalization of Indoctrination: An Exploratory Investigation Based on the Romanian Case Study. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2022.
Thanks to Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, the grimmest of Soviet-bloc ruling institutions, the Gulag, stands revealed as both symbol and instrument of modern tyrannies. The purposes of such regimes are also well known, having been elaborated by Marxist-Leninist ideologues for many decades. But the institutions the regimes designed to purvey that ideology in an attempt to build an inescapable framework of thought and feeling in their subjects, ‘correct’ habits of mind and heart, remain much more poorly understood. In this “exploratory study,” University of Bucharest sociologists Paul Dragos Aligica and Simona Preda have begun the task of better understanding these institutions of indoctrination, and their work has noteworthy implications for the understanding of institutional ‘capture’ efforts by Leftists in the United States and Europe.
They ask: “How should we conceptualize and theorize about the social and political instrumentation of ideologies in regimes or systems that assume that historical missions of salvation or radical transformations are the stringent organizing and legitimization principles of their very existence?” Ideologists, they answer, “operate by penetrating and planting their units within other existing organizations,” enabling them to monitor and eventually to censor and manage such organizations “from the inside.” “Thus, the entire institutional configuration of the political and social system is pervaded and altered” by “political commissars.” “Universities were among the first targets of any Communist, collectivist regime,” but in the Communist regimes, not only schools but factories, hospitals, and “almost all organizations” saw “a special ideological office or agent, by now defined as ‘ideological worker,'” a person distinct from the political police and informers working for the police. While all regimes seek to transmit their would-be ruling principles to citizens or subjects, “there are some systems” in which this task “grows and spreads to become the defining feature of the system” in a deliberate attempt to establish absolute rule over the horizon of human aspiration.
The authors choose Communist Romania as their ‘case study,’ since the regime there provided such a clear and striking example of the phenomenon in question. But they begin with observations about Communist “ideocracy,” generally. “Ideocracy” was coined by the Swiss economist Peter Bernholz, who defined it as a regime “in which the ideological factor is institutionalized as a supreme principle of government.” (1) An ideology is “a combination of ideas, images, and doctrines claiming absolute truth and historical validity.” It might be added that the claim of historical validity is crucial, inasmuch it brings what might otherwise be a simple assertion of universal principles into play as determinative of practice, past, present, and future. It is one thing to say that all human beings have unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and that these rights should guide political practice, to the extent possible; it is quite another to say that all of human history is somehow determined by those principles and further to claim that rulers shall assume the task of advancing that history in the role of its ‘vanguard.’ This is why ideocratic regimes usually propound “a message promising a better life in the future” and also why they share “the objective to convert all people to the ‘true creed,'” and finally why “force may be needed in order to achieve these goals.” That way leads to ‘historicist’ tyranny or ‘totalitarianism,’ which awaits only “the power of the state” to be “mobilized in support of the ideology in question.” Bernholz distinguishes mere ideocracies—Saudi Arabia, Iran, even the Massachusetts Puritans—from totalitarian regimes—the Soviet Union, Communist China, Nazi Germany, Pol Pot’s Cambodia, North Korea, the Eastern European states during the Cold War, Cuba, and the (thankfully) short-lived regime of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS). To this, Aligica and Preda add that all such regimes hold up a model of the ideal human being as one which can be realized in practice by the population generally. Again, all regimes have their heroes; not all regimes expect and demand that their subjects be reshaped into that heroic mold.
This implies that ideocratic and especially totalitarian regimes share “certain broad beliefs about human nature.” Unlike, for example, Publius writing in The Federalist or indeed the American Puritans, such regimes regard human nature as malleable by means of humanly designed institutions. Publius esteems institutions designed to take human nature as it is and not to transform it but to channel such natural and persistent human characteristics as selfishness, acquisitiveness, and even rapacity into good behavior (rather in spite of ourselves); the Puritans expected the “New Man” to appear only with divine intervention at the End of Days. But “in the end, all plans for radical social change (i.e., Communist, Socialist, totalitarian) move very fast from ideas about social order and institutions (institutional design) to concentrate almost instinctively and obsessively on the problem of indoctrination, mindsets, and the creation of a ‘New Man'” by means of institutionalized indoctrination. Indoctrination is “pivotal to the social engineering of the process of social change and the logic of the government of the system,” which aims to “induce changes of human nature” itself. V.I. Lenin, for example, demanded what he called the “most rigorous control through society and the state” not only to establish and consolidate the new, Communist regime but, in the authors’ words, “to socially engineer and maintain in the citizens’ mindsets, perceptions, and values those adjustments that are deemed necessary for the creation of the ‘new man’—the “new socialist human being”—”and, by implication, the ‘new system.'”
In order to achieve this goal, ideocrats often found the modern-tyrannical or totalitarian regime. The authors take their definition of totalitarianism from Carl Friedrich and Zbigniew Brzezinski, who define totalitarianism as comprehensive “control of the everyday life” of the population ruled by the regime, especially control of “their thoughts and attitudes as well as their activities.” (2) In practice, this entails not only an ideology but “a single Party typically led by one man, a terroristic police, a communication monopoly, a weapons monopoly, and a centrally directed economy.” All of these characteristics find support in modern technology. Since non-totalitarian regimes may see one or a couple of these features (economic centralization, for example), Aligica and Preda remark that totalitarianism can be imposed all at once or as “a creeping social phenomenon”; “a social or political system may move in a totalitarian direction in a sequence of stages, starting from different sectors of the society in small and partial steps and extending to the level of taking over the entire system.” Friedrich and Brzezinski also take Tocqueville’s point: that a new form of despotism can arise out of “modern democracy,” by which Tocqueville means the civil-social equality that had replaced the old ‘aristocratic’ or oligarchic civil societies. Without any firm social hierarchy embedded in civil society itself, a centralized and despotic regime might be constituted as readily as a federal and republican one. Under such a tyranny, “the entire vocabulary of democracy is taken over and its semantics are twisted” with the deployment of “a rhetoric based on formulaic utterances and conceptual dichotomies” seen in such phrases as “enemies of the cause.”
With regard to the Communist tyrannies, the Aligica and Preda identify four “logics” at work: Marxism, the manipulation of the ruling doctrine or ‘Party line,’ the careful management of incentives, and the equally careful management of steps toward the construction of the New Socialist Man. Marxism holds that the plasticity of human nature makes the forming of this new human being possible and that both indoctrination and “protection” from heterodox ideas number among the means for doing so. As an example of this, they cite the rather sinister formulation of Soviet ideologist A. S. Makarenko in a 1949 article published in Soviet Studies: the New Socialist Man “must be happy.” (3) Following from this Marxist logic, and in particular from the Marxist emphasis on the ‘dialectical’ twists and turns of ‘history,’ frequent changes in the slogans and announced policies of the regime, the latest often contradicting the one immediately prior, yields a sense of insecurity in the population that induces more ready compliance to the rulers’ edicts. More, the malleability of the Party line is intended to knead the supposedly formless dough of human nature by disorienting the minds of the subjects, giving them few if any fixed convictions—what sociologists call ‘anomie.’ Thus ‘totalitarianism’ means not only total control over the lives and beliefs of the people but “the ‘total’ destruction of the human personality” by “the insertion of a structural uncertainty and insecurity in the system, under an overarching arbitrary power.” Thus, “the entire system operates in undermining any sources of initiative outside the range approved by the Communist leaders at multiple levels.” Like human nature, “doctrine is malleable,” and doctrine is malleable “because its interpretation is malleable.” The two claims are connected, since “a certain alertness to these shifts becomes second nature.” Not only “subservience to leadership” but “a cultivated opportunism and duplicity” prevail.
The third “logic” of Communist Party tyrannies consisted of a regime-specific version of ‘public choice theory,’ which attempts to show that not only private (and especially economic) choices but also public choices are largely determined by the self-interest of the person or persons making them. Under tyranny, ordinary incentives (material and social rewards such as income, safety, and honor) combine with pervasive coercion and preference manipulation. Not only is “some form or another of violence and conflict…an unyielding ever-presence in those systems” for the ruling class and the ruled alike, but “members of the elite have to be co-opted and kept in a closed and monitored condition.” This is how “regimes that are authoritarian or even totalitarian may survive using relatively limited coercion and violence,” although it must be said that in practice they have not hesitated to test and surpass those limits.
Finally, Communist strategy, precisely as a form of historicism, recommends that its practitioners proceed in phases, “each phase having its own parameters, constraints, objectives, and dynamics.” The first phase, when the Party is out of power, consists of “a logic and strategy of subversion, generating an organizational structure aligned with the objective of overthrowing a social order from the inside”; once the Party has taken power, the next phase consists of “building and defending” the new regime. In both phases, organizing is the key to Communist success; “effective organization was one of the key strengths of Communist parties and movements in comparison to their competitors and adversaries”; Communist leaders “place[d] their political practice at the forefront of the organizational revolution taking place in the twentieth century.” That is, when Communists said that dialectical practice included taking over the institutions of ‘bourgeois capitalism’ they meant adapting the managerial techniques of corporations to ‘state socialist’ purposes. Instead of manufacturing and selling cars and bars of soap, however, Lenin’s professional revolutionaries, the “vanguard of the proletariat,” were “instruments for an institutional structure targeting the entire polity and society.” They were ‘manufacturing’ the New Man, in part by the means a comprehensive form of advertising, namely, propaganda. Marxism was the tool of the propagandist-manufacturer, who “must go behind surfaces to demonstrate to the masses what the true realities are and how to interpret them once they are demystified,” that is, reduced to the terms of ‘the dialectic,’ socioeconomic class struggle.
In designing their (pseudo-)science of social engineering, Communists followed a classification system introduced by Georgi Plekhanov, one of the earliest Russian Marxists (albeit a social democrat and sharp critic of Lenin and the Bolsheviks). Plekhanov distinguished between propagandists and agitators. Propagandists “inculcate many ideas to a single person or to a small number of people,” functioning more or less as writers or teachers. Agitators inculcate “a single idea or a small number of ideas” to “a whole class of people,” functioning more or less as orators. But propagandists and agitators will never fully succeed if the persons propagandized and agitated are not then organized, “molded in ways congruous with the Communist designs.” Lenin understood that to do this, “the entire fabric of the social system of the country needs to be penetrated,” not only to shape opinions but to “see and understand the internal springs of the state mechanism,” the better to weaken and coopt it. In so doing, Communist operative should not restrict themselves to speech alone. There is the propaganda of words, but there is also the “propaganda of deeds”: Party operatives “need to manufacture concrete acts as examples to support [the Party’s] claims.” If, for example, propaganda cites the ‘brutality’ of the ‘capitalist police,’ it is surely useful to provoke the police into committing acts that can be presented as specimens of such brutality.
Having “construct[ed] an unprecedented system of propaganda and agitation penetrating state institutions and targeting the proletariat, the peasantry and the army,” Communists could adapt, amplify, and intensify it, once their regime was in place, sending its “political commissars” or “ideological workers” into all institutions from villages to cities, factories and professional associations and, above all, into the educational system, “the core of this enterprise.” “The education system becomes a cradle of propagandists and activists who start to operate in official capacities” in all the other civil-social organizations, now answerable to the socialist state.
Romania was a case in point. As elsewhere within the Soviet empire, Romanian Communists combined Marxist-Leninist internationalism with nationalist themes, the latter to distract Romanians from the fact that they were subordinates within that empire by denouncing the ‘imperialism’ of the United States and its West European allies. This task was helped along by a “conspiracy mindset” and a “blatant Machiavellian and Byzantine spirit.” “There was no room for individualism in this new type of society.” As explained satirically by the novelist and sociologist Alexander Zinoviev in his 1982 book, Homo Sovieticus, all the ‘I’s’ must be unified “into one huge ‘We.'” [4] The Romanian Communist Party, initially consisting of only about a thousand members, “rapidly grew to become a massive party,” ruling a nation of twenty million people while itself being ruled from Stalin’s Moscow. “Stalinization was a radical program: it aimed to annihilate civil society and to control the intellectual life and culture” by means of repression (political police, regular police, and the army) along with a program of indoctrination undertaken by “a massive propaganda apparatus, which maintained constant sociopsychological pressure on the citizens” or, more precisely, subjects.
The Romanian Communists accomplished their revolution in stages, first taking control of the executive branch of the government in March 1945, then the legislature by the means of “rigged elections” a few months later, then forcing the king into exile, “finally proclaiming the Romanian People’s Republic” at the end of 1947. Rival political parties were made to disband. The following year, the Agitation and Propaganda Department (yes, they actually called it that) was instituted within the Central Committee of the Romanian Workers’ Party, “from the very beginning” designed to be “one of the key institutions of the Communist architecture of power”—what Aristotle calls the politeia or ruling offices of a regime. Since “the problem of legitimacy was central” to the founding and perpetuation of the new regime, the Department set about “creat[ing] the New Man and implement[ing] the materialist-dialectical ideology” by “controlling and policing the Romanian cultural scene, recruiting cadres, and deploying them under its direction to implement political ideological lines that reflected the tactical objectives of the party-state.” It was a “cultural revolution” two decades before Mao invented the term. “This structure of the Party apparatus would remain essentially unchanged until the fall of the Communist regime in December 1989.” The main refinement came in 1965, when “the Party believed that society had reached a certain level of understanding…and could do without” the agitators, establishing “lecturers” as “the new elite propaganda workers.” This was during the rule of Communist Party boss Nicolae Ceausescu, who wanted propaganda to focus more narrowly upon the valorization of himself, a “cult of personality” following one of the regime’s brief periods of liberalization, or at least quasi-independence from Moscow. Nationalism came more into the foreground, ‘internationalism’ (the euphemism for strict subordination to the Soviet Union) into the background. The problem with promoting nationalism and Ceausescu at the same time was that the ‘I’ of the ruler could never quite be squared with the ‘We’ of the Romanians, despite the propagandist-lecturers’ best efforts. “The 1989 developments leading to the collapse of the regime demonstrated how large the gap was between the official propaganda and reality.” Nationalism comported well with independence from the Soviets, less well with continued allegiance to the head of a Communist Party that everyone knew to have been directed from Moscow.
Not that the regime’s core source of legitimacy, Marxism-Leninism, was abandoned. “The requirement was that each lecture be clear and concise, shedding light on the core ideas of a text and giving a systematic exposition to Marxism-Leninism as a science of societal development, a science of the oppressed and exploited masses, a science of the coming victory of Socialism in all countries, as well as a science of constructing Communist society.” Unfortunately for the regime, Marxism-Leninism proved no better in explaining Romanian reality than nationalism or the much-proclaimed wisdom of Mr. Ceausescu. All this, despite requirements of liveliness and sincerity in the lecturer, his “tactfulness and solicitude,” his avoidance of contradicting known facts, his mastery in “making appeals to human emotions,” his “transparent and accessible language,” his ability to relate matters to “the problems of regular folk,” his dramatic “unmasking” of “international imperialism and class enemies within the country,” his timely use of current events—each aimed at what Machiavelli had long ago called “the effectual truth,” that is, the desired results in the audience.
While the regime lasted, “the propagandist’s duty was to execute the orders received from the political center through the ideological-political chain of the Party.” “The physical presence of the propagandist was thought of as the symbolic presence of power,” especially since he not only laid down the current Party line but conveyed “information from the field” back up the chain to the Party hierarchy. This “informational double flow” served as a ruling instrument “inherent to the systemic effort of the regime to achieve total control” and to “improve its functioning and stability, based on endogenous feedback.”
Propagandists and agitators received training beyond that on offer in the public education system. “Party Education” paralleled state education in Romania as well as in the other Soviet bloc countries. In the words of General Secretary Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej in a speech before the Romanian Workers’ Party Congress of February 1948, “we should grant the appropriate attention to Party education, in order to elevate cadres who are at once honest and vetted, with a solid ideological training.” Nearly three decades later, the rector of the inspirationally-named Gheorghiu-Dej Academy elaborated: “Any leadership cadre, no matter what specialized domains he may be active in, is primarily a revolutionary militant, a political man tirelessly engaged in the execution of RCP internal and international policy, and will prove himself to be boundlessly devoted to the Party to our socialist nation, as well as applying in his life the principles of socialist ethics and socialist fairness, of socialist humanism.” The numbers of such militants increased as the decades wore on, perhaps in an attempt to shore up that widening gap between the Party line and the inglorious social and economic realities faced by Romanians.
Propaganda campaigns followed a set formula. First, the Department defined the group or group to be targeted for the message (“for instance, preschoolers, high school and university students”); then determining the most effective “psychological approach” for target audience; preparing media for each group (“written materials, meetings, public manifestations, and mobilizations”); and, finally, supervising the campaign. Propagandists understood that each group consisted of subgroups, and “active minority” of about ten percent and the remaining “passive majority.” Activists were carefully evaluated for possible promotion within the Party, in which “the development of a critical and self-critical spirit” would serve as a model for the school children. Despite all of this, reality stubbornly resisted “official rhetoric,” inasmuch as “the very core of the ideological myths and wishful thinking around which the Communist regime had been built” consisted of, well, ideological myths and wishful thinking. Tested, Marxist ‘scientific socialism’ proved unscientific and anti-social.
The authors pay particular attention to the universities, which “were at the forefront of this process” of institutionalization. From 1948 on, “propagandist professors were assigned to all area of higher education,” with mandatory courses in “scientific materialism” in every field and during every semester. For example, the Mihai Eminescu School of Literature, named after Romania’s national poet, was founded in order to “train the new generations of prose writers, disconnecting them from the past and national history tradition”—a nationalism separated from all previous generations of the nation, including Mihai Eminescu, who survived in name only, as a sort of vague invocation of patriotic sentiment. Meanwhile, over at the University of Bucharest, students were required to write autobiographies fact-checked and otherwise vetted by supervisory “ideological workers” in the school’s administration. Any “deviation to the Right,” “real or imaginary,” could then be corrected. Peer pressure was added by the Union of Working Youth, whose members were on “a fast track to the higher levels of the social ladder,” with “opportunities for comfortable job in the administration, education, or the army.” The Union became “a genuine lever for control and surveillance of young persons, its alumni including four future Communist Party heads, including Ceausescu—not one a slouch when it came to controlling and surveilling.
In keeping with the spirit of self-criticism, or at least criticism of their subordinates, Party elites never judged these attempts at institutionalizing Marxist-Leninist ideologies to have been adequate. “The ‘New Man’ did not seem to be able to emerge and function autonomously and required an ongoing effort of the apparatus.” Rather than criticizing the ideology itself, the regime’s raison d’être, they inclined to assume that there must be something wrong with the means in which the ideology was being delivered. And indeed there were several things wrong. Teacher competence was dubious. The crisis of 1956, when Hungarians rebelled and had to be disciplined with Soviet tanks, and the crisis of 1968, when students imitated the protest movements ongoing in the United States and Western Europe, rattled Party leaders. A 1968 Party report admitted that “discrepancies continue to exist between the demands of our developing socialist society and the activity of the Marxist-Leninist teaching staff, between the scientific, ideological and educational resources available to these chairs and their actual contribution to solving social, economic and political problems, as well as to the intellectual life of institutes and universities on the national ideological front.” Horror of horrors, “leftover religious ideas” were still discernible. Universities displayed a tendency, as the authors put it, “to foster views that clashed with scientific materialism” more than any other set of educational institution in the country. Eventually, no less a figure than “Nicolae Ceausescu himself” would chair the Protocol of the Central Committee of the Romanian Communist Party’s Secretariat, which he had charged with the task of improving such things. “Measures will be taken,” the eventual report solemnly intoned, “necessary steps” to reform education, particularly in the social sciences. “Yet, despite all these efforts, things never seemed to get aligned to the was intended and desired by the authorities and the indoctrination apparatus.” Passive resistance often prevailed, as when teachers assigned with political education at the Institute of Art History lingered on the ancient Greeks and never quite got to Marx’s place on the syllabus.
In sum, the “process of ongoing institutional change and never-ending tribulations” was “never fully successful, even by the self-congratulatory standards used by the agents and leaders of the Communist Party” in Romania. The triumphant march of Socialism toward a regime of Communism populated by New Men never made it to its appointed destination. “How difficult it is to implement and maintain a program of indoctrination geared toward social change, even when one controls the entire apparatus of the modern state and ruthlessly runs it on totalitarian principle,” the authors drily remark. Although the RCP’s strategy was more sophisticated than an attempt merely “to indoctrinate the masses or to take control of the government in the traditional revolutionary style” but aimed also to control civil-social groups in order to transform them into “influence bases in society”—mirroring the emphasis on intraparty organization during the pre-revolutionary period—it transpired that individuals “do not act purely based on the scripts and expectations of their formal roles.” In their recalcitrance, they cause “conflicts, dilemmas, and trade-offs” which throw sand into the machine constructed by the ‘social engineers.’ Ruling institutions take on “a life of their own,” despite the intentions and the actions of their founders and overseers. This, despite the fact that the regime established “a special group of people that had their social identities and their careers tied to their places and roles in the system,” and which “defined their social life and structured their relationships with the rest of the society.” To borrow a familiar phrase from the Leninist lexicon, what is to be done?
Why the failure? “The problem was that the interactions generated” among the rulers, their subordinates, and the many groups within Romanian society “incentives, identities, and aspirations that clashed profoundly with the motivation and mission of the organizational units that ideological workers were part of.” A modern state is simple too big and complex for the comprehensive rule the RCP attempted to exert. Longstanding social structures formed a pre-existing system “more resilient than the Marxist ideology was expecting and predicting it to be,” possibly at least in part because human nature is more resilient than Marxism takes it to be. And the failure of the regime to deliver on its promises of increased prosperity made the sacrifices it exacted (the “radical censorship of the late 1980s” being only one example) increasingly unpalatable to ordinary Romanians, detaching even those who had been indoctrinated by the regime from the regime. “People do not see themselves as mere instruments of organizational structures, even if those organizations may be defined in relationship with missions that claim to have historical magnitudes, such as to create a ‘new society’ or a ‘New Man.'” This put the propagandists in an exceedingly awkward position between the Party bosses and the people, neither satisfied with them. The bosses subjected them to regular regulation and assessment while the people regarded them as professional liars in the service of tyranny, a regime of “control, surveillance, suspicion, double talk, and manipulation.” That is, “the need for monitoring, control, and top-down authoritarian management” in such a regime “comes to clash with and undermine the very organization and functioning of the propaganda and indoctrination institutions.”
A “striking question” remains: “Whether the presence of any of the traits associated with ideocracy in a liberal democratic (or simply nonauthoritarian) system denotes the existence of a potential trend toward totalitarianism.” On that, time will tell.
Notes
- Peter Bernholz: Totalitarianism, Terrorism, and Supreme Values. New York: Springer International Publishing, 2017.
- Carl J. Friedrich and Zbigniew Brzezinski: Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1956.
- Such an impulse is not confined to Communist regimes in particular, or even tyrannies generally. The public elementary school attended by your reviewer, not so many years after Makarenko’s article was published, had students sing the ‘school song,’ which contained the lines, “We are students of Forrestdale School, and we all like it very well. / We are to be happy, in our work and play.” That “are to be” phrase always struck him as a bit ominous, even at the age of six.
- The term Homo Sovieticus was itself invented as an ironic counterpart to “the New Soviet Man,” and the impish Zinoviev sometimes abbreviated it into a slang term meaning, simply, “Homo.”
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