Yanayev's words hit like a bombshell, shattering the heavy silence in the Kremlin Great Hall. When he declared, "He left you a strong motherland," the delegates, unable to contain their fervor, rose to their feet and erupted into warm applause. The once quiet hall was instantly drowned in thunderous acclaim.
Yet not all were convinced. Some looked at Yanayev with thinly veiled disdain. To them, the move to "rehabilitate" Stalin was merely a calculated gesture aimed at winning over pro-Stalin factions within the Party and cementing Yanayev's leadership — a standard political playbook for any new Soviet chairman convening a Party Congress.
But Yanayev made no mention of himself. Instead, a gray-and-white photo appeared behind him on the screen: a Soviet political commissar, pistol in hand, rallying his comrades forward. The image — one of the Soviet Union's most iconic from World War II — was titled "Yeromenko."
"Yeromenko," Yanayev began, "was taken in Stalingrad, summer 1942. The man in the photo was an instructor of the 220th Company, 4th Infantry Division of the Red Army. Not long after this photo was taken, he was killed on the battlefield — the only commissar who charged with the soldiers."
His voice dropped. "He walked toward enemy machine guns for the motherland. But what are you doing all this for?"
Inside, Yanayev sighed. "Many of you are blinded by capitalism's gold. You chase the privileges of a ruling class — special supplies, promotions to become socialist bureaucrats who plunder the state's resources at will, ambitions to reach the pinnacle of power and direct the fate of the entire country with a single word."
"Many comrades no longer embody the spirit of Party membership. Remember your oath! Everything we do must be ready to sacrifice for the great motherland — not for personal gain. If you lack this, remove your badge. You are unworthy of being a Communist."
"Re-establishing Stalin's legacy is not a call for a personality cult. I oppose that. But erasing all his achievements because of flaws is wrong. Everyone makes mistakes — I will, you will, everyone will."
"I acknowledge Stalin's mistakes — personal purges, strategic errors — but mistakes must be admitted and corrected, not hidden or persisted in. The cost of persisting in error is catastrophic. But we must also recognize his merits. A white sheet of paper has black spots, and a black sheet has white spots."
"I assign Stalin 30% fault, 70% merit."
With that, Yanayev sealed Stalin's political status for the Soviet Union's future.
Then, he pivoted to the meeting's core: socialist democracy with Soviet characteristics — not relinquishing the CPSU's leadership, but cautiously expanding supervisory rights of other parties, while safeguarding the Party's sacred, inviolable dominance.
Yanayev's vision rested on a robust legal supervisory mechanism, where judiciary and administration check and balance each other. He exposed the root cause of Soviet bureaucratic rot: the absolute privileges granted to officials, who could plunder state property with near impunity.
If the Stalin reevaluation was the prelude, what followed was a sharp blow to the attendees. The CPSU was not ending — they were.
Imagine being watched at every turn, feeling guilt even if none is due. Under this system, each official would weigh if the profits were worth the risks.
Yanayev proposed strengthening the judicial system, spreading supervisory powers across the government. The KGB and Ministry of Internal Affairs would no longer operate above the law; their actions would be subject to judicial review — limited to internal personnel issues, while special operations might still fly under the radar.
But Yanayev would not allow the judiciary sole control. He planned to form a new supervisory body, drawing personnel from the KGB and Ministry of Internal Affairs — a special inspection team to monitor judicial officials. The Party's disciplinary committee would oversee both the Ministry of Justice and the inspection team, ensuring separation of powers and mutual restraint.
No longer would people be arrested and interrogated without cause. KGB operations would adhere to basic laws. This was genuine progress for the people.
This was Yanayev's first genuine push for democratization and legal reform. He aimed to root out the privileged class at its core, wielding legal weapons to protect the people's interests from parasites with hidden agendas.
Politically, he called for democratic reforms within socialism's framework — socialism with Soviet characteristics — signaling his readiness to legally muzzle dissent.
"You may speak freely, but you must be responsible for your words and deeds," he warned. "Think you have a divine right to spread rumors and assassinate national leaders' reputations? Sorry — that's against Soviet law. Please come with us."
"And it is precisely because the United States has a perfect legal system," Yanayev said, voice low but steely, "that no one dares take action even when the people clamor against the government. Every word, every act is traceable — a thread you can pull to unravel the dissenter. When the law is perfect, the people become their own jailers. Everyone carries a KGB inside their heart. That is the greatest advantage of American law."
His gaze swept over the delegates, cold and unyielding. "This program protects the vast majority — the people — but it strikes at the root of the Soviet privileged class. And, conveniently, over 70% of you here at the 29th Congress belong to that class. You have lived too long in comfort and privilege. Now that your interests are threatened, you tremble with anger and fear."
"How could those who have tasted sweetness willingly hand the cake over to those who need it most?"
Just as murmurs of protest began to rise, Yanayev's voice cut through the hall like steel.
"Do you know how long it would take to replace all the cadres in the Soviet Union?"
A pause.
"One day. Just one day."
His eyes narrowed, drilling into those ready to resist. "I can imprison every one of you who opposes this program. You say I am a dictator? Fine. If this program fails, I am already the most powerful man in the Soviet Union. I command a steel army of millions — but what do you have? Power? Remember, everything you hold was given to you by the people. If they want it back, you have no right to refuse. And no right to resist."
His tone hardened. "That is absolute provocation."
Yanayev was not afraid of political factions plotting in the shadows. As long as he controlled the army, he would never suffer the fate of being sidelined. "I can kill you as calmly as one crushes an ant."
"For the benefit of the majority, sacrificing a small number of privileged parasites is justified," he said, rolling his eyes at the pale faces around him. "Some have fed on this country's blood for too many years. Now, it is time to pay the price."