Wednesday May 15

Up at 6:30 and off to breakfast (alone as Shel washes her hair). Walk on the beach and hacky-sack a bit. Sure is fun. 9:30 Press conference. Fairly simple. They were mostly interested in Dennis. Ron made a short statement. Took pictures of the Swami. One of the reporters asked me about Central America after some prodding by Rama. Says Daniel Ortega is coming here tomorrow (trying to clean up after the mess he made by going to Moscow right after the vote). Also says Robert McNamara is in Leningrad now and will be going to Moscow about the same time we do.

10 AM Plenary Session – starts off with a man (Michael) showing a flag he designed for us to present to the Soviet Peace Commission. US & Soviet flags united by the Scandinavian Peace Knot. He then spoke for a while about Russian history. Very interesting perspective. Says today's methods, traditions and styles have historic precedent and are seen incorrectly if ascribed to Soviet, or Communist, training. Says the Tatar invasion and occupation and subsequent invasions and occupations obscured both the Renaissance and the Reformation – that there effectively was none in Russia . Relationship with Greek Orthodox Church added to a separation from the Western traditions. Says Poles treated the Russians very badly over many years and that bears heavily on the situation of Russia vis-à-vis Poland today.

Susan (attractive blonde artist – quiet, seems nice) shows an oil painting she did which will be presented by the delegation. Wants us all to sign it. It's very modern, very symbolic. Not my kind of thing.

Rama tells of her experience in USSR . Warnings as to how to behave (if women wear tight pants they'll think they're hookers). Don't be pushy. Play down New Age jargon (thank God). An awful lot of condescension, it seems to me, in the attitudes being expressed here. Especially (I hope I'm not giving away any latent hostilities) by Rama. Much talk of “higher consciousness” and being “non-judgemental”. Urg.

Bad scene. Barbara Marx Hubbard got up and suggested that we form some sort of sub-groups that can meet every night and tune in the higher consciousness and support “our” intention. Dennis, bless him, got up and objected that it felt to him as though some people, who might not be in total agreement with all these suppositions, were being pressured into something they weren't here for. Barbara quickly retreated from her position and Rama made noises about no one being pressured. Ron Mann then asked if there was anyone who felt that way and Shelley and I and a few others indicated that that was the case with us.

Well then, let's all get up and have a movement and dance session! That'll fix everything. Everyone is invited to come into the back of the room and take part in a movement/dance/therapy thing. We opted out, but certainly felt separated from the rest of the group as a result of it.

So off to Porvoo. Great recreation! Took a bus to the local town and walked around. Bought a couple of ties (forgot to bring one). Shel sees a tie on the rack – bright chartreuse with a Mickey Mouse face on it – perfect for Patch, so we get it, too. Then, sweet thing that she is, Shel spots a health food store. We go in and a young woman directs us to a natural food restaurant! A bonanza! Have to walk up a part-dirt, part-cobblestone street to get there – kind of like walking through the last century – and we find this wonderful place with herbed soup and vegetable salads and great bread – and we're the only ones there. Neat meal! Stroll back into town, miss the 4 PM bus back to Haiko, so catch a cab after picking up two copies of the local paper with Dennis' picture on them.

Back at the hotel we knock on the Weaver's door to give them the papers – they invite us in and we talk for a bit about the state of things – turns out Gerry is worried that we blame them for getting us involved in this (I had called Dennis a few weeks before and asked him what he knew about the group) so we assured her that we were big kids and made our own decision, so not to worry. She's really a very sweet mother hen.

Dennis, as low keyed as he is, is clearly hot about the way things are going. Says he's “up to here” with all the EST dialogue and the “New Age” jargon and the programming and the horse manure.

5 PM – Dress up for champagne reception with the Finnish Peace Society. Meet the president, Dr. Ole Was-Hockert, who is a member of Parliament and founder of International Physicians to Prevent Nuclear War. Hard to tell much in a few minutes of conversation, but he seemed terribly full of himself and his “accomplishments”. Said he had refused, that day, to sign a document on the floor of Parliament opposing the US blockade of Nicaragua . I asked why and he said that Reagan could make things uncomfortable. My, such raw courage.

Gave Patch the tie we had found. He was really touched – took off the one he was wearing right there and put it on. Loved it.

In to dinner with Peace Committee. My sense of resentment toward some of these folks seems to be growing. Talked to Larry Burghardt, one of the staffers who seems to be an OK guy, about a need for some clarity of purpose for the group. He seemed to agree. Told him about the rumor I had heard about Shel and I re-doing our marriage vows in Red Square – he knew nothing of it – told him that that was the kind of thoughtless thing that could do great harm to me at home and I wanted to know where it started and how and why.

We found a seat and Gary (artist/businessman who goes with Patricia – seems real straight and has a crisp sense of humor) comes up to say that Rama had dispatched him to ask us to sit at the “head table” with the Weavers, herself, Ron, Barbara Marx Hubbard, Swami Sachidananda (who seems neat), Patricia and Gary, Dr. Was-Hockert and one of his colleagues. It seemed inappropriate and elitist, especially since we had already started conversations with some of the people at our table, so we said no thanks. (It's going to be some great trip if they start doing that kind of social layering crap.)

Interesting dinner. Woman, member of Finnish “Journalists for Peace” sat with us. There was some conversation about journalistic objectivity being compromised by membership in the organization – she didn't seem concerned – I said I thought US journalists would avoid that type of commitment. Also at table, Gretchen (“Come Softly”), a woman named Judy (psychologist from Denver, seemed bright and neat), and the woman swami who was one of the song leaders at the Church of the Rock (says she had spiritual inclination all her life, put down by family, most regular religions didn't satisfy, she found this and made necessary commitments to become swami – something like “poverty, chastity and obedience” but not quite that). We talked politics most of the evening. (I think I was right in my concern about the naiveté of this group.) Judy is the only one who demonstrated any political sensitivity. I expressed my concern about people being snowed by a lot of what they see and hear if they aren't willing/able to ask probing questions. Gretchen says that her philosophy is “To know is to understand, to understand is to love.”

Speeches – Swami Sach did a kind of opening blessing which was great. He talked about being open to different approaches to dealing with problems – directly addressing the baloney that's being going on here with the “one way” attitude – and he did it very subtly.

Dr. Was – Spoke interminably. Lousy speaker. Took a shot at the “leftists” in France being responsible for the last nuclear test.

Barbara Marx Hubbard – very “New Age”. I was not impressed, but am by now prejudiced.

Michelle – (Woman story teller – has been in Russia before) told some stories (she does this for groups of children around the world). It was fine and actually kind of fun. Then she read a letter from kids in the U.S. about peace and did what seemed to me to be a very fake emotional/dramatic number at the end.

Off to bed – the sun is mostly down as we head back at 11:30 or 12

Thursday May 16

Up at 5 AM – can't sleep. Shower and go down and call the kids. 7 AM here, 9 PM last night there (weird). Breakfast and pack. Meeting, mostly logistics, and off on bus to Helsinki for train to Leningrad . (The big R.) Some confusion at the train station as to which car and how many per compartment. Compartments are very small and have bunk beds in them that take up most of the room. We're first told that we're supposed to be four to a compartment, which is going to be a very uncomfortable and very tight ride. Then it's determined it is in fact two to a compartment (whew!). Off we go.

Had a couple of hours before crossing the border and had been told to be very careful about the stuff you bring across, as they check very closely. (Last night we had all met after dinner in one of the rooms and each taken a few items that different people had brought large numbers of. Idea was that if one person was to try to bring in a lot of a certain item it might bug them more than if each of us brought in a little of it. Kind of items reflected much on the people on the trip – dolls, little toys, pictures of Jesus, more crystals, tapes (of “Come Softly to Me”), records (“We Are The World”), little elastic do-jiggers with fluffy colored balls on them (for little girls to tie up pony tails with), more dolls (made by a church group – each having a little personal message included), art work, books, and lots and lots of religious material – mostly connected with yoga or New Age kinds of concerns.)

Before (or because of) worrying about the border I wanted to get the group of psychologists together (we had been divided into groups by profession or personal interest, each with a staff member as group leader or coordinator). It involved searching up and down six cars for the leader, Phyllis (dark hair, bright smile, a periodic glassy stare which had me confused as to who she was), and then going with her to get all seven or eight of the others together. That accomplished, I told them all about Anatoly Koryagin, an Amnesty International case considered an “Urgent Action” matter because of fear for his life. Koryagin is a psychiatrist who formed an investigative group in Moscow to probe charges of Soviet abuse of psychiatric hospitalization and treatment for political purposes. He had interviewed sixteen people who the Soviets had charged were mentally ill and wanted to hospitalize for “anti-Soviet activities” and had found them all to be totally sane. He was subsequently put into a psychiatric hospital himself, with the same charge, and is now considered to be in critical condition as a result of a hunger strike he had gone on to protest brutal treatment and poor conditions. He had reportedly been force-fed and beaten.

With all of them gathered in one small compartment and me standing at the door I kind of had them at my mercy when I ran it all down. I really had no idea how they would respond, but the AI people had asked me to try, so why not? To their credit, they all seemed interested. Some didn't know what Amnesty International was, so I explained, and in doing so got an assist from a quarter I really didn't expect it from. Nina, the Russian-born Freudian, expressed her strong support for Amnesty and her agreement with the idea that they should check into it. It was kind of a neat feeling – plotting together as we raced across the Finnish countryside toward the Soviet border. They even asked if they could hang onto some of the printed information I had on Koryagin and a couple of other cases. After urging them to get rid of it before the border, I went back to our compartment.

Shel and I have a good talk with Ron Mann about the set-up for the trip, his disappointment with the way the whole film thing was mishandled and the general stress involved with being responsible for this kind of a thing. We tell him of our concern about the “marriage vow” rumor and he claims no knowledge of it. Suggests I talk to Rama. He seems a good guy. Very level and easy. A little studied, perhaps, in his easiness, but I have a sense that he tells the truth even when it's difficult to do so.

Later, Ron asks if he can do an interview with me on the Swami's tape set-up (he's doing a number of them with members of the group). It gives me a chance to make some of the points I've been expressing to Shel about my fear that people with the kinds of naiveté shown here can be very manipulated and misused in a situation like this. He doesn't seem to be offended by what I have to say and even indicates a kind of agreement, which pleases me a little, even as it surprises me. We also get into a discussion about the concept of Karma. Peter (the officious Peace Corps/Nazi Youth type) had made a comment at one of the “Plenary Sessions” about “these people” having made a karmic choice to be in the situation they are in (referring to the Soviets). The pomposity of that position infuriates me and, again to my surprise, Ron agrees with me – saying that it is a fundamental misunderstanding of the idea of karma. So, I get the idea that while we may play a somewhat different game, we seem to play by the same rules. Interesting.

Swami Sachidananda's tape set-up is going to be Godsend, I think. If handled well, it can provide the record of this trip that the documentary might have provided, but do so without the nonsense that the filmmakers would have inserted. The camera is run by the young woman (whom Patch calls Swamiette [but he got it from Shelly!]) who is the Swami's personal assistant (as best I can get it) and she has occasional help from a young guy named Jim (Yoga teacher from Denver) whom the Swami has labeled Vishnu (evidently a compliment to those who speak Swami) and the name has stuck.

One last stop in Finland . All get off and get snacks and drinks (bottled water to ward off the dreaded Leningrad Leap). Much excitement and nervousness about going through the customs check at the border. Nervous laughter and jokes and rumors abound.

Back on the train we go over our declaration forms once more (you have to declare all currency, traveler's checks and foreign currency [if any] you're bringing in). Shel has had to change her form a number of times because of changing money and shopping in Finland – I'm worried about whether or not to declare the $250 that David R. has asked me to give to his friend B. (interesting that I'm even reluctant to put their full names down here, but you never know where this will end up). If I don't declare it and they find it I'm not sure what they'll do. If I do declare it, how do I explain where it went when I come out? Oh well, I decide to declare it. Another concern is the note to B., and the name and address. Shelley also has some names and numbers of people to contact and we've been told to separate them, write them down somewhere in code and/or hide them. If they are discovered it's no particular problem for us, as I understand it, but might be for the people in question.

A U.S. Marine diplomatic courier has a compartment in our car and is giving a group of people a run-down on what to expect, how life is in Leningrad , etc. when the train stops. We're all standing in the corridor when the customs police appear at the end. There is a loud word spoken, or noise made, and they head down the corridor toward us, herding people into their compartments, slamming the doors after them. It's quick, efficient, intimidating as hell and very cold. And suddenly we're alone in our compartment, cut off from everyone else, and it's very quiet – unnerving as you wait, which is probably the intended effect. After we stew for a while, and I find myself wondering if the door is locked, there is a knock and I open it (not locked) to find a smiling young uniformed woman who asks for our passports and visas. She takes them with her and a guy on her heels comes in, lifts up the seat (bottom bunk) and checks the storage compartment underneath – looks behind the curtain in the shallow recess where things are hung (obviously to see if there is anyone being hidden in either place). A crew passes outside the window, checking the undercarriage of the train, and as the train moves slowly forward, another crew of soldiers, standing on an overpass, checks the top. You sure get a sense of tight control.

After another wait a guy comes to the door and asks to see the dreaded customs declaration forms. He insists we put our wedding rings and all gold and jewelry on it. He leaves and there's more wait. Guy comes back and asks us if we have any books. Shel shows him some of the paperbacks she has. “All novels?” “Yes,” she says, “Except the Bible” and shows him that. “Only one Bible?” “Yes.” To me, “You have a Bible?” “Nope.” (They clearly don't want people passing around extra Bibles.) More questions on gifts “Yes, we have a couple of pens and a doll”, (Gulp, we have a pot full of stuff) printed material (“Well, sir, I have this interesting information from Amnesty International and some U.S. anti-nuke stuff here…” I wonder how that would go over) magazines? As a matter of fact, a Newsweek with Gorbachev on the cover is sitting in plain sight in my purse, so I point at it and he wants to see it – looks it over and says to leave it open on the table top for “Border Control”, which I take to mean that someone else is going to come to see us. “Anything else to declare? Gifts?” (Rama had suggested the gifts saying that the Russian people were very generous and that we should expect to get little things from them as an expression of thanks for our visit – postcards, pins, etc. And that we might want to respond in kind – certainly not with money, which they would find insulting, and not to over-do. Well, of course, everyone had over-done, resulting in the frenzy the night before and the load of crap in our bags. I had even thought to stick a couple of extra hacky-sacks in my bag. But with all this emphasis on gifts, I kind of wished we hadn't all been so generous.) Again, “Some buttons, a couple of pens and a doll.” (Goddam doll was a giant!) “How many of each?” Shel and I look at each other, shrug (when in doubt, lie) “Oh, three or four.” “Anything else?” A little (very little) shake of the head. He looks at us for a second, shrugs and says “Thank you” and goes.

God. Can that be it? He didn't even open our bags! And am I glad! The more he asked us the deeper we dug ourselves in! Then I remember what he had said about leaving the magazine on the table-top for “Border Control” and have the depressing thought that there is a whole other team to come. After another long wait (during which I can't stand it and open the door and peek out into the corridor, seeing nothing but the guy going into a compartment down the way) another woman appears and gives back our passports and visas and we're in!

After a short time, the train comes to a stop in a small town. We have been watching Russia go by out the windows (like a poorer version of Finland so far) and comparing border stories (Vishnu had so much spiritual reading material with him that the guy evidently sent for higher-ups and took a bunch of stuff with him when he got off – if they got off, come to think of it, we never stopped!). No one else that we talked to in our car seemed to have had much trouble.

As we step down in Russia for the first time, it feels a bit tentative. We're not sure everything is clear from the border check, but we think so.

Looking around, we are in a small city with many old and damaged-looking buildings. A giant picture of Lenin has been painted on the side of one of them. We had been told that the Soviets don't want people taking pictures of their railway facilities, so we set up Patch, who attracts attention wherever he goes, and Swami Sach, who is no slouch in that department, and take pictures of them, just by accident getting a few shots of the big Lenin picture in the background.

Back on the train a real goose-stepper comes down the corridor. Older man than the others we've seen, probably their superior. Goes by us, thank the Lord, and into Vishnu and Ron Mann's compartment. Seems they returned all of Vishnu's books and took a stack of them from Ron. (He said they probably just didn't want to leave empty handed.)

As the train pulls out again some of the tension is eased. Shel goes up to the dining car for a drink with some of the folks and I nap until we pull into the Leningrad yards. When up I hear of some of the stories the Marine has been telling of life in Leningrad for him. Is allowed no contact whatsoever with Soviets – only wears uniform in embassy, civvies elsewhere – had had a buddy set up and attacked by KGB (?) earlier this year – says there is a display in a local museum describing Marines as “molesters of young girls who have to kill a friend or family member in order to be able to join.” (How much of this is true is open to speculation – Ron had been there when the incident with the Marine occurred – it was reported he was drunk – this guy says his buddy doesn't drink - ??)

Arrive Leningrad 8:30 or 9 PM – still full light. All smiles, we get our bags out, meet our Intourist Guides: two young women, fairly attractive, speak excellent English. (Intourist is the Soviet organization that handles all tours and tourists to USSR . Assumption is that they are Intelligence agents [or, if that's an overstatement, certainly Intelligence sources] who will give information that is strictly Party Line, but then, what would you expect?) They are certainly helpful. One of the women left some paintings she wants to present somewhere on the train – the guide dashed back with her and chased all over trying to find them. They didn't, as I understand it, but will make arrangements to have them found and delivered.

Onto the buses and off through the city of Leningrad . 4.5 million people. Built by Peter the Great on a swampy area in the north to ward off attacks by the Swedes. City built on “the blood and bones of Russian peasants” – over 100,000 died during the construction period. Sixty-five rivers and canals run through and every year (in the fall) it has flooding problems. Because of the canals it's called “the Venice of the east” (by somebody). Typical middle-European city – architecture kind of thick, massive, imposing, but to my eye not particularly attractive. Not much color, from this first look. Seems drab. Everything is of stone and done in what is known as Russian Traditional or Russian Classic. But the city is full of history. Leningradians (Leningradniks?) consider this to be the cultural center of the Soviet Union . There is much theater here, and museums around every corner, it seems. Dostoyevsky, Lenin, czars, Pushkin… Every other building has some grand historical significance and you begin to get (by osmosis) some appreciation of its place in history. (Interesting connection to Michael's lecture – from Tatar invasion of 12th or 13th century through Czarist rule and alignment with Byzantine Greek Orthodox Church [sent emissaries to the four great religious traditions, Jewish, Islam, Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic – Jewish was foreign, clannish – Islam didn't allow drinking – Roman priest had his back to the people and spoke a dead language no-one could understand – so they chose Greek Orthodox] plus no exposure to the Reformation and the Renaissance. Nine-month period after the original revolution of February 1917, the Kerensky government [parliamentary] was the only representative government in the history of the nation. Bolshevik revolution on October 1917 over-threw that one.)

There is much talk here of World War II and the 20 million Russians who died. One can almost not overstate the significance of it as a deeply felt tragedy which touches every life. It is especially remembered here because of the Siege of Leningrad by Hitler's forces for 900 days (almost three years). Over one million people from this city died during that period alone – at one point 40,000 per day were dying, many of starvation. They say there is not a family in the city today which didn't lose loved ones during that time.

We arrive at the hotel and check in. Hotel Pulkovskaya (new looking, clean, pleasant – holds 1500 people) is an Intourist Hotel, natch. Directly across from Victory Square (Big monument we'll visit later). Larger room than in Finland . Same cot-style beds. Lousy, thin, rough toilet paper, but there's some there. Porter brings bags (no tipping please). Assume the room is bugged, but for what reason is a question. (Also, what kind of manpower necessary to handle such a feat? We've been told that if we have numbers of people in either city to call, or meet someone on the street that you want to call later, don't do it from the hotel – that will cause trouble for them later. Use pay phones on the street – paranoia?)

Hang out stuff and go down to dinner. Nice enough restaurant. Sort of peremptory service. Lousy, unimaginative food. Since we've been warned against the Leningrad water (even by our Finnish guide in Helsinki , who says it's got some amoeba) we are tempted to try the bottled water, but even that is lousy. Sulphurous. At dinner we sit with four women from the tour (One is Morrine, a sweet, pretty housewife who is trying for some independence for the first time – later becomes a pal of Shelley's – another is Dulcie, the make-up lady – the other two have names but I never get them clear) who were in another car on the train and had an awful time at the border. They were terrified by the guard and said the guy went crazy with all the religious paraphernalia they had in their bags. Tore stuff out of their bags and confiscated it all – took heaps of stuff from them, all the presents – even threatened to send one of them back. Sounds like a real putz. And it was clearly a scary experience for them. We don't know (or didn't know) how lucky we were.

Evidently one of the guys, Alan, wrote up some sort of religious/philosophical tract with a Russian translation included that really pissed them off, so they came steaming into compartment after compartment looking for his stuff and then branched out into a tirade against gifts in general. Interesting that the ones who seem to have gotten the most heat were the women, particularly women alone. Anyway, the stories were upsetting, but they all seem to have come through OK.

Curious experience to be sitting where we are in a modern, fairly nice hotel in Russia , having been treated courteously in every way and hear these stories. Kind of schizzy.

A rock group begins performing and a bunch of people dance, including some of our group. No-one seems to find it peculiar here to see men dancing together – women too. Interesting.

To bed for us.

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