The Soviet leadership did manage to frame the issue in a way that ordinary people could grasp, and even the stubborn skeptics who wandered into every kind of public discourse felt compelled to acknowledge the message’s force. The motive behind the next campaign mattered less than the carefully crafted messages that made the wind of change unmistakable. It seemed the writer-essayist Mikhail Zoshchenko and the poet Anna Akhmatova were cast in the symbolic roles, while the central decisions were steered by Comrade Stalin himself.
The campaign was formally adopted on August 14, 1946 and was published a week later in Pravda. Its reach touched magazines such as Zvezda and Leningrad. Preparations began in April when Stalin instructed Zhdanov, the Central Committee secretary, to intensify agitation and propaganda. Some analysts argue that the ideological push was also a reflection of an internal party struggle between the Leningrad faction, led by Zhdanov, and a Malenkov-Beria circle with broader support, though this interpretation remains debated.
After Zhdanov’s death in 1948 and Suslov’s long tenure as the party’s main ideologue, the Leningrad faction faced a decisive defeat. More than 2,000 people were prosecuted in the so‑called Leningrad Case, with many senior officials executed after relocation to other municipalities. Among Soviet historians, a theory persisted that the most “progressive” and “reformist” currents within the CPSU were crushed in Leningrad after the siege, leaving the local party apparatus devoid of a spirit of freedom for the remainder of the USSR. Only Alexei Kosygin, who rose to head the Cabinet of Ministers, survived and pursued reforms by Soviet standards. The version remains intriguing, though this discussion is not developed here, to avoid disturbing the broader narrative of Petersburg.
The true motive behind the campaign against “kowtowing to the West,” in my view, was simpler. The Cold War had already begun. In the final months of the Great Patriotic War, Soviet troops moved into Eastern Europe and reached Germany, exposing the living conditions there. During the war, ordinary workers and peasants in the USSR did not fare worse than before, and the leadership feared that seeing Western life might kindle sympathy for liberal ideas back home, much as historical comparisons had once sparked dissent after the 1812 war, when officers supporting Decembrist ideals faced consequences. The slogans of freedom, equality, and fraternity appeared as hollow rhetoric in the eyes of those who believed it used to undermine the regime.
To the author, Soviet leaders seemed to overestimate the threat posed by imported free thought, though they preferred to act proactively. In the Cold War era, the enemy had to be clearly defined on the ideological front: the West, and especially the United States, which emerged as the primary foe. The leadership depended on deep, top‑down organization and financed ideological campaigns. Zoshchenko, an emblem of a deeply Soviet stance, was targeted before Akhmatova, who endured Soviet pressures with a different stance. The campaign extended to measures affecting the repertoire of drama theaters and film such as the debates over the film “Big Life.”
Authorities condemned Zoshchenko for producing work they deemed empty, vulgar, and apolitical, portraying the Soviet order in a way that could mislead the youth. Akhmatova faced similar criticism, accused of representing poetry as decadent and disconnected from the people, a stance said to undermine education of the youth and to be intolerable in Soviet literature. The editors of Zvezda were accused of introducing material perceived as aligned with Western bourgeois culture, and the Leningrad magazine faced similar charges of pandering to foreign influences.
Fortunately, neither Zoshchenko nor Akhmatova received imprisonment; Zoshchenko was granted a summer residence, and Akhmatova enjoyed a personal car. Both later found greater access to translations. Purges swept through journals across culture and the arts, and by 1947 a nationwide campaign targeted the “cow-worship of the West” and the so‑called “rootless cosmopolitans,” later associated with Jews. Diplomatic ties with Israel were severed in 1948.
In January 1948, Zhdanov introduced the term “world of music” into a meeting of Soviet music figures, insisting that national art must be accompanied by controls on internationalism. From then on, Western art was largely banned for a decade. Yet no prohibition is eternal, and the struggle against Western influence evolved into campaigns to push for modernization imported from the West. The Cold War could not be contained within domestic politics alone; McCarthyism arose in America for the same reasons that fueled Soviet campaigns. The campaign against Western influence spread to all areas of public life.
In the name of loyalty, scientists were proclaimed traitors to the homeland, a trope that was predictably loud. Official channels initially allowed limited collaboration with American scientists on cancer research; a Soviet scientist named Parin carried work and a drug sample to American colleagues, only to be arrested on his return and jailed for treason. Several colleagues faced the same fate.
Often, a guiding article appeared at the outset of a campaign, typically in Pravda, outlining the theses for party workers. The text was then studied meticulously, notes in hand, as banners proclaimed the need to reject bourgeois aesthetics and cosmopolitan influences. Similar posts and “courts of honor” organized discussions and corrective actions. The aim was to align culture with party directives and to expose colleagues who deviated, sometimes in harsh terms.
Many notable figures in culture and the arts participated in these campaigns, sometimes privately acknowledging the party’s views even as they contributed to the public discourse. The heavy hitters—Heroes of Socialist Labour and others—became symbols of the drive to unite youth with the party’s expectations. The struggle extended to all fields, from science to philosophy to literature, with cosmopolitanism and servitude attacked wherever possible. Historical reevaluations were undertaken to align the past with the new reality, and the Crimean War, among other episodes, was recast as an act of oppression rather than a liberation, just as other wars were reinterpreted through a modern lens. Catherine the Great and the campaigns from 1813-1815 were reassessed to avoid praising foreign interventions as a model for liberation.
Publishers were forbidden from disseminating work in foreign journals, with access restricted and content sometimes moved to controlled venues. Plagiarism and copyright concerns persisted under the cover of national loyalty, and even the preservation of classic literary and musical forms faced new constraints as cultural life adjusted to the era. In sports, adaptations appeared, with shifts in terminology and classification reflecting broader ideological aims, though success in some areas remained elusive.
Amid these campaigns, a few bright minds broke through, including those in physics who contributed to nuclear weapon development, a role strongly scrutinized by the leadership. Yet the internal core of any Soviet creative intellect remained intact in many cases, with the Great Terror leaving deep scars on the cultural psyche. The overall effect was a persistent morale challenge for the era. The author notes that this is a personal perspective and may not reflect the editors’ stance.