The 29th CPSU Congress established three landmark decisions. First, it affirmed Stalin's historical status, correcting the malicious distortions of the past. Second, it replaced Gorbachev's so-called humane democratic socialism with a renewed ideology of socialist democracy with Soviet characteristics, signaling an end to ideological chaos—at least for now.
But the third decision, which Yanayev regarded as most crucial, was the government's new policy of "increasing revenue" and "reducing expenditure." Reducing expenditure meant cutting social welfare and abandoning some of the high-profile, but unrealistic, aerospace projects. Many blamed the arms race and space race for the Soviet economy's decline, but they overlooked a key fact: the USSR's social welfare spending was comparable to that of Western welfare states. In the 1970s, oil exports had sustained these programs, but by the 1980s economic weakening forced an impossible balancing act.
Cutting welfare was meant to combat the "lazy mentality," encouraging people back to work to contribute value rather than drain the state. Without this, Yanayev warned, even a wealthy nation could collapse like Greece.
On the revenue side, Yanayev emphasized balanced development across primary, secondary, and tertiary industries, with special focus on high-tech sectors. The Soviet Union had caught the wave of the third scientific and technological revolution but remained hampered by outdated military-industrial models—like anachronistic reliance on vacuum tubes—narrowing the path in computing technology.
While Soviet progress was slow, it was steady. The MIR personal computer with a light-pen touchscreen, developed in 1969, was proof of that. Yet many innovations, such as ternary computing algorithms, had been stifled by political constraints.
When Yanayev proposed the slogan "Building a strong country in science and technology," some delegates felt invigorated. Despite world-class heavy industry, the Soviet Union still needed to leap ahead in tech innovation.
"The high-tech industry will revolutionize society," Yanayev declared passionately. "Today, mobile phones only communicate. Who knows if in ten or twenty years they won't process data like computers? The U.S. knows this: whoever masters future technology controls the world."
Few grasped the full scope of Yanayev's vision, but they felt its weight. This was not the chaotic bickering of the 28th Congress but a quiet, electrified attention. Yanayev's decisive speeches and far-reaching plans wrapped him in a mysterious aura. To many, he was no mere party secretary but a godlike figure leading the nation from despair.
One literary delegate whispered to himself, "The General Secretary is the reincarnation of Ivan the Terrible."
He immediately rejected the thought as fanciful — yet could not shake the parallel. Like Ivan IV, Yanayev was a ruthless suppressor of the privileged elite, a visionary conqueror, a cruel yet merciful tyrant. Memories of Solzhenitsyn's writings on the Soviet Tsar flickered in his mind, blurring the lines between legend and reality.
By the time the brief, unorthodox congress ended, Yanayev had outlined the country's future in a tight, clear summary. As delegates rose to leave, the literary representative noticed Yanayev, gray-haired and reserved, quietly packing his manuscripts.
"Perhaps I should write his biography," the writer thought, excitement sparking in his veins. He stepped forward, eager to uncover the secrets of the man who had altered Soviet history's course.
Outside the Great Hall, the heavy rain had ceased. Thick clouds parted, and sunlight poured down, casting a silver river of light along the Kremlin's solemn steps—illuminating the path ahead.
"The future looks as bright as the sky," the Soviet secretary from Belarus smiled, looking around at the cheerful faces. He glanced up at the Kremlin's red star, blazing like a perpetual flame—a symbol of the eternal red spirit.