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John N. Hazard
MANAGING
CHANGE
IN THE USSR
The politico-legal role
of the Soviet jurist
How are the policy-makers of the Soviet Union
coping with the impact of social and economic
change ? And what is the role of the law, its
draftsmen and its practitioners, in the public
interpretation and enforcement of the will of
the Soviet leadership ?
In this book, based on the Arthur Goodhart
Lectures, 1982, John Hazard brings a lifetime’s
experience of the institutions of Soviet law to
bear on these questions. Interpreting the
practice of Soviet law across the entire range
of its functions - from the drafting of
constitutions and the enforcement of economic
policy to the suppression of religion and the
control of family life - Professor Hazard picks
out two main themes. He emphasises the role
of law in the continued effort of policy-makers
in the Soviet Communist Party to shape
society according to the ideological dictates of
Party policy and to mould a new ‘Soviet man’.
Secondly he explores the growing importance
of legal draftsmen in the formation of
political and ideological policy, as the
established generation of ‘generalist’
administrators faces increasing challenges to
its authority from a growing technocratic and
scientific community.
Throughout, the development of the law in
the Soviet Union is compared and contrasted
with Western experience in a manner easily
comprehensible to the layman. Written in a
relaxed and readable manner, this book will
be of interest to a wide audience among both
students of law and scholars interested in
Soviet society.
Managing Change in the U.S.S.R.
The politico-legal role of the Soviet jurist
f' I, ( aju) ^ ci. j
Managing Change in the

U.S.S.R •/
The politico-legal role of the

Soviet jurist
The Goodhart Lectures

1982
JOHN N. HAZARD
Arthur L. Goodhart Professor in Legal Science in the University of Cambridge
1981-2
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge
London New York New Rochelle
Melbourne Sydney
Published by the Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge
The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge CB2 1RP
32 East 57th Street, New York, NY 10022, USA
296 Beaconsfield Parade, Middle Park, Melbourne 3206, Australia
© Cambridge University Press 1983
First published 1983
Printed in Great Britain at

the University Press, Cambridge
Library of Congress catalogue card number: 83-1792
British Library cataloguing in publication data

Hazard, John N.
1. Law-Soviet Union 2. Justice, Administration
-Soviet Union
I. Title
344.707
ISBN 0 521 25316 0
SE
i
. H a 'Sir
lisa
I
Contents
The Goodhart Lectures page vii
1 Promises and problems 1
2 Ideology and expansion 13
3 Innovation and property concepts 29
4 Developed socialism 41
5 Production versus rights of enterprise directors 59
6 Science, religion and dissent 73
7 Productivity versus labour protection 83
8 Warring against deviance 97
9 Mobilising imagination 107
10 Mobilisation and liberalism 121
11 Social insurance or tort law 137
12 State intervention in family affairs 153
Epilogue 169
Select bibliography 175
Index 179
v
V
f
Arthur Lehman Goodhart devoted his life to the study of law.

He was especially interested in the impact of various philoso¬
phies upon the legal systems of England and the United States,
but his concern was broader — indeed it covered much of the
world. In his role as Professor of Jurisprudence in Oxford he
was professionally an academic, but he was far from being
cloistered in an ivory tower. He sat on the Lord Chancellor’s
Law Reform Committee, a predecessor of the Law Commission,
to attend to the practical task of revising the laws of England.
As the editor for fifty years of the Law Quarterly Review, he
sought out papers on practical matters and wrote his own
contributions, often with practice in mind.
In my many conversations with him both in England and
during his annual visits to New York, he never failed to show
an interest in how Marxist thought, as interpreted by Soviet
professors, was influencing attitudes towards law and its
practice in the U.S.S.R.
Encouraged by some of those who now administer the fund
donated to the University of Cambridge to honour him on his
eightieth birthday, I have prepared this volume of lectures
while a holder of the chair of Arthur Goodhart Professor in
Legal Science during the winter of 1981-2.
As stimulation I have placed Arthur Goodhart before me in
my mind’s eye, and have reported what I think he would have
wanted to know about current trends in the Soviet legal
system. He would not have wanted to read a highly documen-
vii
ted treatise, for he could find such works in the Bodleian

Library not far from University College, of which he was long
the Master. He would hardly have had time in a very busy life
to read at length in a field that was peripheral to his major
concerns. But his curiosity would not have permitted him to
ignore developments in a legal system that is currently having
considerable influence not only in Eastern Europe but in a
significant segment of the developing world.
Perhaps Karl Marx would haye disowned some of the
measures now sponsored in his name, but it remains true that,
in the nearly one hundred and forty years since the publication
of The Communist Manifesto, ideas which he and Friedrich
Engels broached have stimulated men and women engaged in
creating states and devising legal systems. While all of them,
including the Russians, have altered the original concepts to
meet their specific needs, all acknowledge their intellectual
debt in one degree or another to Marx; and many of them look
to experience in the U.S.S.R. to find a model either to follow
with some care or to rectify for their own use, so as to avoid the
errors which they believe Soviet leaders have made.
Arthur Goodhart would have wanted to know the funda¬
mental changes that are occurring in the law in the countries of
Eastern Europe, and these lectures are written for him. There
may be others who will share his concern and, like him, would
prefer the informality of lectures to the weighty footnoted
tome. Like Arthur Goodhart, jurists with such tastes need no
‘introduction’ to the topic of Soviet law, for their reading has
taken them already far beyond the elementary stage. Arthur
Goodhart would have wanted only to have his memory
refreshed and to be brought up to date on events of the 1970s
and 80s which have had an impact upon the system Lenin
introduced in 1917 into what had been the Russian Empire.
Lenin had given little advance thought to the practical
actions needed to bring his vision into reality. Marx had given
little guidance except as to the first steps. Lenin knew that the
viii
first move must be to ‘smash the bourgeoisie’. But what was to

follow in creating a new society? Sixty-five years is not a long
time in the history of a state; yet patterns of government and
law have become embedded in the communist-dominated
states. Soviet theorists believe that they have established a
firm base on which to build for the future, but they know that
there will inevitably be surprises ahead. The question before
them today is a difficult one, for the world has changed greatly
since World War II, and so has the U.S.S.R. The problem
today is to determine what can be done with Lenin’s legal
system to shape a society in a country and a world very
different from the one Lenin knew.
Of course, these lectures are coloured by my own experience
as a foreign student in the Moscow Juridical Institute during
the years 1934-7, as well as by a lifetime of reflection on Soviet
developments. There have been frequent return visits to
Moscow to consult with the legal specialists of the Institute of
State and Law of the U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences, and
numerous conferences outside the U.S.S.R. when the ex¬
periences of West and East have been compared. Over all these
years I have been conducting courses in Soviet law at
Columbia University in the City of New York.
Being aware as a teacher that there may be readers who will
want to explore in more detail the topics sketched in the
lectures, I have attached to this small volume a bibliography of
selected works.
J.N.H.
1
Promises and problems
The spectre of unmanageable change is haunting Soviet

leaders. Poland has left its mark, for the labouring man in
whose name the Russian revolution was fought is, in his Polish
incarnation, challenging the legitimacy of communist leader¬
ship as the working man’s liberator. Further, the productivity
of the Soviet worker is no longer responding as it did in the
earlier years of Soviet history to massive capital investment
and work drives based upon appeals to love of the fatherland.
Economic growth has dropped sharply from the high 9 per cent
rate of the 1950s to about 3 per cent per annum in the 1980s.
Worse yet, the economy is being injured by petty pilfering,
which has become large-scale embezzlement and open theft in
some industries and on some farms. The public’s former en¬
thusiastic belief in continuing advance on every economic and
social front, from which all citizens were expected eventually
to benefit, is diminishing.
In reading the law reports and the revealing accounts in the
Soviet press, and even in reading the speeches of Leonid
Brezhnev in his reports to the Communist Party as its General
Secretary, I find myself concluding that the sixty-year effort to
create a new ‘Soviet man’ has failed to achieve all that was
hoped for and often promised. Socialism is in no position to
‘bury’ the Western capitalists, as Brezhnev’s predecessor
Nikita Khrushchev once predicted to President Richard Nixon.
There is much to indicate that a significant part of the Soviet
citizenry is thinking only of itself. Hope of doing more for
l
society as a whole is fading. Of course, this sense of

disillusionment and in some cases of despair is now world¬
wide. What makes the Soviet populace especially disillusioned
is that many expected socialism to turn the tide against the
supposed degeneration of society under capitalism. It is the
disappointment of expectations that is now causing Soviet
citizens to wonder what can be done to better a situation
which has been considerably improved over what it was in
1917, but which falls far short of the,abundance of communism
which was - until quite recently - promised for the 1980s.
Quite normally the Communist Party leaders cannot accept
the theory broached by some noted Western sociologists that
there is little if anything that can be done to manage change.
They reject the position of those, such as Professor Daniel Bell
of Harvard University, who argue that the U.S.S.R. will follow'
the Western world down the long slope into a stage now
sometimes called ‘the post-industrial era’. Over decades the
Soviet leaders thought they could insulate Soviet society from
the degenerative influences of the West by closing the
country’s borders to the infiltration of manners, customs and
ideas. There was a time during my student years in the mid-
1980s when the leadership took what seemed to be a purita¬
nical attitude towards the pleasures of Western youth.
Although time has shown that total isolation from Western
cultural influences is impossible, Soviet leaders continue to
attempt to close off their people from the drug culture, from
pornography and from ideas, as was evidenced so clearly
during the 1980 Olympiad by restraints put upon contacts
between the Western sports fans and the Soviet people. These
many efforts seem largely to have failed, however, for Western
tastes and customs, especially among youth, have seeped into
the Soviet society of the 1980s.
Emergence of a jeunesse doree has for some years worried
Soviet sociologists who have recorded neglect of children by
busy parents engaged in professional and Communist Party
2
work. Because of their parents’ success these youths have

enjoyed a good life, and the result has been the rearing of a
generation that has been granted admission to preferred
universities and has been assigned to preferred locations for
their jobs after university. As years have passed some of these
favoured youths have advanced to positions of relative power
over scarce resources, only to appropriate them to their own
benefit. The alleged misuse of privilege by Polish Communist
Party leaders has caught the attention of the world, as have
similar allegations made against some Soviet leaders very close
to the top. No one in the West can claim that this abuse of
power is novel. That is not the issue, for the West has its share
of corrupt officials; but for those with faith in the communist
system the revelations are damaging because of their expec¬
tation that communists would show a higher sense of morality.
They are expected to be concerned with community welfare
and to avoid the corrupting influence of power.
Soviet socialism has never been proclaimed as a hair-shirt
philosophy of self-denial. Communists do not aspire to become
ascetic monks. On the contrary, the official goal, and probably
the hope of most Communist Party secretaries at all levels for
decades, has been production for abundance. The dream was
that the worker, when liberated from domination by capital¬
ists siphoning off surplus value from the workers’ pay, and
when guided by rational economic planning, would achieve a
level of production far greater than had ever been experienced
in the capitalist world. There would then be enough goods to
meet the citizens’ expectations, and perhaps even enough to
permit society to move on to the ultimate goal when man would
receive ‘in accordance with his needs’. This was the promise of
The Communist Manifesto and the expectation of early
communist leaders. Nikita Khrushchev, when he was General
Secretary of the Party in the late fifties and early sixties,
admitted quite openly the envy he felt when his visits to the
West opened his eyes to what could be achieved with science
3
and technology, in which the U.S.S.R. was lagging. He called

for the introduction of Western methods to catch up with — and
ultimately surpass — the West. Since he was ousted in 1964, his
successors have preached the same message, and they have
adopted the catch-words ‘scientific and technological revol¬
ution’ as indicating the instrument on which they rely for
success. It is to them a panacea to increase Soviet wealth. The
West has something to offer, then, but at the same time its
method may become a Trojan Horse.
This fear of the West relates to the possible consequences of
unmanaged scientific and technological innovation. Soviet
authors express the fear that science and technology can be
potential causes of a general corruption of society. There are
already demands being heard among Soviet scientists for the
free interchange of ideas and knowledge between West and
East so as to keep Soviet scientists abreast of their counter¬
parts abroad. What is now feared is that free exchange, if it
occurs, may bring social change like that in the West: namely
pluralism, loss of public philosophy and the stimulation of
new values and new goals; and ultimately even a challenge to
Communist Party leadership.
Professor Daniel Bell predicts all of this for the U.S.S.R. as it
moves massively into the era of science and technology. Andrei
Sakharov’s lonely voice calling for relaxation of controls in the
interest of communism is not really alone. It strikes a
responsive chord among members of the Soviet scientific
intelligentsia who perceive no sound reason for their com¬
parative isolation from what has become a scientifically
interdependent world. Western analysts are convinced that
Soviet leaders are now seeing what they interpret as a
threatening writing on their wall. Their rule has been legiti¬
mated in the public eye for over sixty years by their claim to
superior understanding of Marxist social theory, rather than
by skills flowing from knowledge of science and technology.
4
What is happening today is that these leaders perceive that

they may come to be thought obsolete.
General Secretary Brezhnev repeatedly addressed his Party
and the people on the need for the introduction of science and
technology into production so as to bring the country up to
Western standards; and many of those writing in Soviet
periodicals and books indicate their expectation that progress
under the banner of science and technology will be qualitat¬
ively so remarkable that it will constitute a new social
‘revolution’. If such a revolution is not to become a political
danger, society will require leadership to escape it. The Party
cannot allow slippage down the slope to a ‘post-industrial era’
with its challenge to a continuation of monopoly of power. The
suppression of the Polish reformers of 1981—2 has dem¬
onstrated how great these fears have become in Poland, and
there is ample reason to believe that they are also great in the
U.S.S.R. There is no other way to interpret the admonition to
the Italian Communist Party in February 1982 (in response to
its criticism of Soviet manoeuvres to quell the Polish revolt) that
salvation lies only in adoption of the Soviet model. Euro¬
communism as preached by the Italians can lead in Soviet eyes
only to loss of control and, therefore, defeat in the struggle to
create communism.
The cornerstone of the house built on the Soviet model is, of
course, implementation of Marx’s directive that elimination of
bourgeois influence is possible only through nationalisation of
productive wealth. There can be no silencing of bourgeois
opposition to social change unless the bourgeoisie is deprived
of the source of its power, namely private ownership. Stalin, as
he told H. G. Wells way back in 1934, was convinced that
economic planning, to which he looked for unparalleled
productivity, was possible only if productive property was
totally owned by the state.
Soviet leaders have never lost faith in Stalin’s position, nor
5
have they forgotten Lenin’s admonition that the masses will

slip back into syndicalism, to trade union pressure for a fatter
pay envelope rather than for radical social change, unless
there is powerful leadership in another direction. The official
conclusion, and to my mind the deeply felt conviction of Soviet
ideologues, is that the masses still need to be guided to
persuade them to accept present sacrifice of creature benefits
and even the absence of freedom to propose a change in the
programme and in the leadership. While it is probably true
that the old men of the Communist Party’s Politburo hold
tenaciously to their posts partly because the perquisites of
power are satisfying to them, it also seems likely that they hold
on because they think themselves indispensable. This has
been a failing of leaders in other lands. It was a disease that
reached even Franklin D. Roosevelt, who thought it imperative
that he seek a fourth term as President of the United States
even though George Washington’s example of rejection of
office after two terms was firmly fixed in the political folklore
of his country at the time.
The monopoly of political power gained by the Communist
Party over sixty years, and through a considerable struggle
against those who have resisted its rise, has become the
fortress to be held against all comers. It is through exercise of
that monopoly of power that Soviet leaders expect to guide
their people for the indefinite future towards the promised goal
of the revolutionary years. What is new in the 1980s is that the
leaders now give evidence that they have come to realise that
the challenge to their power derives not only from the relics of
modes of thinking related to property ownership - dangerous
as those relics still can be, especially among the peasants - but
also from the ‘apolitical’ technocrats: a group which is
currently being multiplied by the millions through an edu¬
cational system designed to create technocrats.
There is hardly a Western student of Soviet affairs who
would deny that there now are and will continue to be some
6
communists who see in their position an opportunity not so

much to serve the community as to serve themselves. It has
become a commonplace in the West to say that communist
careerists outnumber idealists, and that ‘ideology is dead’.
These conclusions are not without factual foundation, for
Western students in Soviet universities are reporting regularly
on their return to their homes that they have found their Soviet
contemporaries showing little enthusiasm for Marxist indoctri¬
nation and for sacrifice of personal welfare in favour of what is
preached to them as the common good. Even a Soviet law
professor once confided to me when he learned that I had been
a student in Moscow in the 1930s that he wished he had
attended a law faculty at that time, because it was the golden
age when ‘they believed’.
Today’s youth, if it is ambitious at all, is reputed to express a
preference for positions in science and technology which
promise high material rewards rather than preparation to
become political generalists, with the responsibilities and
risks of failure. Brezhnev recognised this problem in his report
to the XXV Communist Party Congress in 1976 when he called
for the uplifting of the moral and cultural levels of the people.
He warned that ‘otherwise we shall end up with attitudinal
revisionism and petty bourgeois psychology in the general
public’.
There is also evidence in the daily press of yet another
challenge to the current state of the Soviet nation. This comes
from the workers themselves. They manifest restlessness at
the lack of attention shown them by career bureaucrats. While
the protesters have not numbered enough to form an effective
independent trade union, much less to strike as did their
Polish counterparts, there have been individuals willing to risk
exile to labour camps rather than to give up pressing for a
share in decisions that have to do with wages and working
conditions. Top leaders are not blind to discontent. Brezhnev
told the trade unions in his 1981 speech to the Communist
7
Party Congress that they must pay attention to workers’

complaints. They must make sure that the legal procedures
long provided in the Codes of Labour Law for settlement of
grievances are used effectively. In the spring of 1982 the head
of the trade union central committee was replaced for failure to
stem worker discontent. Labour unrest and the measures
taken to cope with it will be made the focus of a later chapter,
but its importance deserves to be noted in this general
overview of promises and problems.
Yet another challenge has arisen within the Communist
Party itself. It was revealed by an ‘exchange of Party cards’,
which is a euphemism for expulsion from the Party. These
cleansings no longer take the form of the notorious ‘purges’
conducted by Stalin in the late 1930s nor of those of the post¬
war declining years of Stalin’s life. Nevertheless they are
disruptive to the lives of those purged, for careers are
advanced by Party membership, and when it is lost the
pendulum swings the other way. It is, therefore, a serious
matter to lose membership, and it is serious also for the Party,
as it constitutes admission on its part that the Party has
harboured careerists and even those who have committed
financial crimes. The General Secretary’s reports over recent
years have indicated that hundreds of thousands have been
ousted, the most recent figure given for the exchange of cards,
between 1973 and 1975, being 347,000. Brezhnev’s continued
demands for adherence to strict Party discipline indicated how
much he and his closest colleagues were disturbed by this
careerism, which has crept into the circle of those who rule
without fear of serious challenge from the common man
outside the Party.
Various devices have been developed to permit the man in
the street to call to the attention of the leadership any abuses of
monopoly of power by the communists at the grass roots level.
But all of these devices are in the form of institutions created to
purge offenders without threatening Communist Party rule. It
8
is a controlled purge of individuals, a managed purge, and not

an unpredictable change of leadership and programme like
those that are the hallmarks of pluralistic societies. When that
type of total change was threatened in the communist world,
as it was by Alexander Dubcek in Czechoslovakia in 1968
when his faction of the Czech Communist Party indicated its
willingness to permit a professedly ‘Socialist Party’ to be
formed and to compete for leadership, the Soviet communists
sprang to action. They could not accept Dubcek’s argument
that a competitor pledged to a socialist programme would
benefit communism by keeping communists on their toes,
without endangering achievement of the communists’ goals.
While copying of the Soviet model is preached as the key to
success, the history of the post-World War II years proves that
considerable variation in the long-established Soviet model
will be tolerated by Soviet leaders when mass discontent
forces a change in tactics upon communist leaders in states
bordering upon the U.S.S.R. There is, however, no sign that
Soviet leaders will tolerate the emergence of political plural¬
ism, whether it be of the Dubcek type or the newer form
developed under the Polish trade union Solidarity. Poland
provides the test of the limits to revisionism. The trade union
leaders knew that a frontal political challenge would face
certain suppression, but they seem to have hoped that the
communists would tolerate the movement if they could be
convinced that it was not a total change that was being sought,
but only a cleansing of the system of careerists and the
creation of a state bureaucracy that would place the interests
of the working man at the head of their priorities. The vital
question for the communists was whether this new form of
pluralism, in which economic structures would be challenged,
would stimulate the public to think that with the power they
were accumulating they could challenge political leadership as
well. In short, would a force claiming not to be seeking the
right to govern, but only to improve government by the
9
communists, eventually lead to the unmanageable demands of

masses of workers to be permitted to create a political force
that could challenge the Communist Party’s claim to
leadership?
Few who have not experienced the indoctrination given
Soviet youth can appreciate how thoroughly Soviet citizens
and those in border states have been guided through the
history of the political events of 1917. In watching the
emergence of Solidarity in Poland, I had the feeling that some
of those responsible for its ideological leadership were replay¬
ing in their minds the period when the newly emerging
‘soviets’ challenged the Provisional Government established
by the Duma on the abdication of the Tsar in February 1917.
During the summer months of 1917, the ‘soviets’ became so
powerful that they created a situation which historians have
called ‘dual power’, during which the formal government was
ineffective because the ‘soviets’ vetoed many crucial orders.
Finally, under the pressure of defeat by the Central Powers, the
government proved unable to manage the growing unrest in
both the countryside and cities provoked by increasingly
serious shortages. Near the end, when Prime Minister Alexan¬
der Kerensky was challenged personally by his Commander in
Chief, General Kornilov, and had to turn to the Petrograd
‘soviet’ in an effort to stop the advance of Kornilov’s troops on
the capital by delaying the troop trains, the Provisional
Government was ripe for destruction. It took very little on the
night of November 7 to seize power from the Council of
Ministers, gathered without their Prime Minister in the Winter
Palace.
All of this is common knowledge to those who have been
educated by communists, whether in the U.S.S.R. or abroad;
and as Solidarity played out its last untrammelled moments in
the autumn of 1981, it is likely that some of its leaders thought
the tactics of 1917 could be repeated. Some of those from the
West who had the opportunity to visit Solidarity members
10
during the final months of 1981 concluded that this 1917

scenario was in some important minds. The intoxicating
impact of newly sensed power after years of impotence, and
the distress evidenced by much of the population at the
economic shortages, seem to have blinded those with such
hopes to the reality of Soviet power on the frontiers and the
absence of circumstances identical to or nearly identical to
those in the Russia of 1917.
The conclusion cannot be avoided that, if there is any
principle that communists hold sacred and which they will
defend at all costs, it is the Communist Party’s monopoly rule.
This principle is now enshrined in the constitution adopted in
1977 on the sixtieth anniversary of the events of 1917. The
constitutional statement is not new, except in form, for
Communist Party monopoly emerged during the late spring of
1917 when Lenin moved in a direction that frightened his
coalition partners, the Left Socialist Revolutionaries and the
Menshevik Maximalists. They withdrew from the coalition.
Not long after, candidates from these parties were banned
from local elections. Finally in the mid-1930s Stalin’s police
swept up many of them to be exiled to Siberia or executed.
Monopoly rule had evidently come to stay.
What is new in the rendition of the established formula in
Article 6 of the 1977 constitution is only the clarity with which
the principle is set forth. Before 1936 there was no recognition
of monopoly rule in constitutional law at all, although Stalin in
the 1920s told an American delegation that monopoly had
‘grown out of life’. Beginning with 1936, when the second
federal constitution was promulgated, the principle appeared,
but only in indirect form as a clause in the article which
granted the right of association. With 1977 the principle was
put in direct form with the statement that the Communist
Party is ‘the leading and guiding force in Soviet society and the
nucleus of its political system, of all state and public
organisations’.
11
I appreciate that there will be those who will say, ‘But this is
politics, it is not law.’ Lenin would not have separated the two,
as he indicated when he said, ‘A law is a political instrument, it
is politics.’ Those words still ring in the ears of Soviet law
students, and they provide the guidelines for those who draft
the laws. Economic facts and the politics of those who are
attempting to manage change cannot be ignored by Soviet
jurists, nor ought they to be by those engaged in following the
course of Soviet legal scholarship and the practice of the
agencies of law. Politics run like a red thread through the
institutions of Soviet law, and they will be kept in the forefront
of this book as essential to an understanding of what is
transpiring in the 1980s.
12
2
Ideology and expansion
The focus of chapter 1 was upon domestic promises and

problems within the U.S.S.R. Quite naturally, they are of
transcendent importance because they are at the core. Indeed,
this has been recognised formally ever since Joseph Stalin
began to preach in the 1920s, in contrast to some of his
colleagues, that socialism could and had to be created first
within the U.S.S.R., even if it had to stand alone. His slogan
was ‘socialism in one country’, and it surprised much of the
world. Stalin’s formula grew out of the experience in China,
when the III International, as the Soviet-sponsored instrument
of communist world revolution, proved that it could not
stimulate successfully a soviet-type revolution outside the
U.S.S.R.
The telling blow of Chiang Kai-shek’s rejection of his
erstwhile communist comrades, and the passage of power in
the early 1930s from the Moscow-dominated Central Commit¬
tee of the Communist Party of China to the group gathered
around Mao Tse-tung, marked the end of an era. Mao s
distinctive ideas on a technique for victory came to the fore,
leaving Stalin alone to preach his new slogan, but the change
of Stalin’s tactics did not bring an end to world-oriented
dreams and scheming to realise them. Communists are
messianic, as revealed in their first organising congress in
London in 1903. They are not to be discouraged, for they are a
convinced group of reformers. Like militant reformers else¬
where, they hold fast to the principle they have discovered and
13
then embedded in practice. It is a formula, a technique, with

which they think it possible to manage social development in
the interests not only of Soviet citizens, but of the great
majority of mankind.
It has been modish in the West, as I have indicated in
chapter 1, to argue that ideology is dead (to which political
analysts frequently add that expansionism as evidenced in
Soviet policy is nothing more than a continuation of Tsarist
policy); that world welfare is not the aim; that the motive is
only traditional Russian imperialism. While some evidence
supports such an explanation, its proponents seem to me at
least to have overlooked the emphasis Soviet leaders place
upon impregnating the Soviet model into large areas of the
world, in particular the developing world. Soviet leaders are
not content to conquer capitals and to dictate overall policy to
peoples while permitting them to retain their own social and
economic structures, as the British Empire builders once did.
In Soviet eyes, that approach was only skin deep.
The representatives that the Soviet Communist Party’s
Politburo sends with the troops are not religious missionaries
of the nineteenth-century type who sought only to mould the
spiritual lives of those who had been conquered. Soviet
missionaries are quite different. They include many students
from the target country who have been trained in the U.S.S.R.
in law faculties to master Soviet ideology and methods of
government. On arrival they seek to persuade the populace of
the regions to which they are sent to restructure their political
and social institutions on the Soviet model, as the only sure
way of liberating the people from poverty, strife and ‘exploi¬
tation by those who own the means of production.
Evidence is accumulating that Soviet teachers who are sent
abroad, as well as indigenous teachers trained in the U.S.S.R.
to assume posts in their homelands, believe that if society can
be restructured, it is not too much to expect that their students
in Africa, Latin America and Asia will accept policy sugges-
14
tions from Moscow, and eventually take orders without

question. Yugoslavs have said that Stalin expected as much
from Marshal Tito, and some Yugoslav bureaucrats have
confided to me that Soviet advisers sat with them to guide their
every move during the early years of the Yugoslav federation.
More recent evidence was provided when President Sadat
ordered Soviet military advisers and even civilian technicians
to leave Egypt. The same complaints were voiced as being
among the reasons for ousting Modibo Keita from the Presi¬
dency of Mali, for, although he had refused to copy all that
came from Moscow, he saw it as his inspiration and invited its
teachers to Bamako to prepare youth for a social order that
was called ‘scientific socialism’.
A new element of resistance to Soviet pressures has been
creeping into the relationship of Soviet communists to com¬
rades in their sister parties in Western Europe, who might
have been presumed to be far readier to accept Soviet guidance
than Third World governments who have expressed no
commitment to communism but seek only Soviet aid. This new
element is the splintering of communist ranks throughout
Western Europe. Santiago Carillo of Spain and Enrico
Berlinguer of Italy are but the most recent symbols of the
increasing rejection of the argument that what benefits the
U.S.S.R. benefits the international communist cause. In the
first chapter I mentioned the Soviet Communist Party s retort
to the Italian Communist Party’s criticism of Soviet policy in
reform-minded Poland. This exchange of views makes crystal
clear the fact that ‘Socialism in one country’, if it means
enhancing Soviet prestige and power at high cost to local
political situations, is unacceptable to many committed com¬
munists outside the U.S.S.R.
I have met in recent years even Soviet Communist Party
members who are distressed emotionally as well as politically
by what is happening to world communism. They deplore the
loss of a sense of fraternity among communists. Tears actually
15
came to the eyes of a law professor, now deceased, when he

reflected with me on the fratricidal battles between Chinese
and Vietnamese communists. He also saw the Vietnamese
advance into Kampuchea as an attempt to realise an age-old
imperialist dream of Vietnamese hegemony over all of Indo¬
china, rather than an effort to spread the communist faith.
The very concept of ‘national communism’ seems in Soviet
eyes to be an absurdity. It is totally foreign to Lenin’s
motivation when he called the first meeting of socialists at
Zimmerwald in 1915 to form the III International with the aim
of countering the emergence of nationalistic attitudes among
the socialist parties of Europe at the time. He could not
understand how the socialist deputies of the II International
were willing to vote for the wartime budgets of their countries
in support of a war that he saw as totally against the working
man’s interests. In the Soviet book of faith there can be only one
world-wide working class family, one international brother¬
hood of proletarians unrelated to the ethnic origin of each
component. Soviet theorists are prepared to accommodate
differing cultures within the family, but they expect conflicts to
be manageable and to be settled amicably without war. They
do not forget that The Communist Manifesto declared that
workers can know no fatherland. They are in principle all
proletarians, not Russians, nor Chinese, nor Italians nor
Spaniards. The fact that Russians often try to dominate the
others in communist conferences is not seen as a repudiation
of this principle. It is justified in the Russian mind by a feeling
that sixty years of experience has given Russians a right, and
perhaps a duty, to guide their less experienced brethren. For
the Russians their vanguard role is a crucial component of
what they call ‘proletarian internationalism’. They see no
conflict between their leadership and the accommodation of
many differing cultures within the communist camp.
Lenin had a formula for accommodating different cultures
within a communist-inspired structure. His slogan was
16
‘Socialist in content; national in form’. It took legal shape in

the creation of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics at the
very end of 1922. The minutes show that at the founding
session one representative rose to his feet with enthusiasm
and shouted ‘Long live the U.S.S.R. of the world!’ To a degree it
was a portent of what was to be attempted in the future.
Perhaps Lenin knew it would not be easy, and could not be
achieved quickly, but the early 1920s were heady days. The
various peoples of what had been the Russian Empire had
been given an opportunity to split off from the great Russian
core to create their formally independent new states of the
Ukraine, Finland, Bielorussia, Armenia, Azerbaidjan, Georgia
and the Baltic countries. Lenin could let them go in the
expectation that, having had their independence, they would
return to the fold as it became evident that they could not
survive economically or politically without the protection of
the Great Russian millions. Further, he had members of his
Communist Party at the head of these states, and he knew that
these militants had been well versed in the fraternal rule of The
Communist Manifesto. That had been drilled into them over
the strong opposition of some who had urged that Lenin
accommodate differing ethnic groups by accepting the prin¬
ciple of federation of such groups within the Party. Jews and
Lithuanians were most vocal in demanding a structure which
would permit them to have their own ethnic organisations
united only by loose ties with a centre.
The history of Lenin’s denunciation of the Jewish ‘Bund’ as an
ethnically constituted group was well known to the commun¬
ists of 1917, and it is still taught to students of the history of the
Communist Party in courses that are compulsory for Soviet
youth. With such a hardened core of ‘proletarian inter¬
nationalists’ Lenin could be confident that the flock would be
brought home to the shepherd, and history has proved him
right. Although opposition was not silenced, particularly
among the nationalistic Ukrainians, it was manageable. With
17
strong argument, some military force and, most of all, the need
to hold together in a hostile world, the structure of a new
Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was forged. Only the
leaders of the independent-minded Finns and of the Baltic
peoples chose to stay beyond Lenin’s reach.
The novelty today in this sixty-year-old federation has been
the emergence of a new ethnic conflict. Perhaps it would not
have arisen had the original federal pattern of 1922 remained
unchallenged by a group of enthusiasts of what might be
called a ‘new left’. These militants began to emerge in the
1960s and to talk of a ‘new Soviet man’ who was to develop as
a product of the homogenisation of the many cultures united in
the U.S.S.R. It is an open secret that Ukrainians and Georgians
have resisted noisily leadership by the Great Russians in
directions seeming to suggest to them that they were to be
submerged in a new composite culture. Some of the less
vociferous minority groups have also been grumbling at the
small part they have been allowed to play in political,
intellectual and cultural affairs where the Great Russians
seem always to take the lead.
The U.S.S.R., as structured by Lenin, has been changed
incrementally over the sixty years since its creation. Lenin’s
pattern in implementation of his formula ‘Socialist in content;
national in form had provided that for matters concerning
political power or economic planning, the various ethnic units,
created as Socialist Soviet Republics’, would conform to a
model established by the central authorities. But for matters of
distinctive cultural impact (as with education) or of essentially
local custom (as with land use and agriculture), the ethnic
groups were permitted to devise programmes to satisfy their
own needs, so long as they adhered to basic principles such as
that of state ownership. Because the early leaders were
disciplined communists and were often directed by Great
Russians placed alongside them as technical advisers, they
always conformed in fact to models established in Moscow,
18
even in fields in which they were permitted to innovate.

The drive in the 1970s to create a new Soviet man led to
moves towards greater centralisation than Lenin had en¬
visaged. Emigres from the U.S.S.R. tell of debates within the
sub-committees drafting the 1977 constitution over the re¬
lationship to be established between the central government
and the Republics; and they say that the long delay in
completing the draft was caused in part by the difficulties met
in resolving disputes.
A major stimulant to the current debate is the desire of
central planners of the economy to make their plans effective
within rational economic boundaries. The ethnic boundaries
established by the migration of peoples over the centuries
simply lack the rationality the planners desire. They have
attempted on several occasions to persuade the political
generalists of the Communist Party to abandon the ethnic
boundaries of the federation and to restructure the Soviet state
in unitary form, with provincial boundaries that meet their
planning needs. Their first attempt was made in the 1920s soon
after federation, but it was resisted by the Politburo, which
declared that the ethnic structure must stand. It was presented
again in the 1960s to Nikita Khrushchev, but he was willing
only to accept a compromise. The Republics would remain as
they were, but they would be grouped in large rational
economic regions for planning purposes. The debates in
preparation of the 1977 constitution were but the most recent
occasion when the planners sought relief, and the conclusion
of the debate with retention of an ethnically structured
federation is proof once again that pressures for recognition of
ethnic identity have continued to keep the federation struc¬
tured on ethnic lines.
While the economic planners were evidently rebuffed in
1977, the cultural homogenisers seem to have felt that there
was still an opportunity to press for the composite Soviet
citizen. At least, no other explanation is evident for what
19
seems to Western analysts to have been a woefully misguided

effort, after adoption of the constitution, to eliminate the legal
status previously accorded the minority languages. The effort
came to light during the months when draftsmen in the various
Republics were bringing their republic constitutions into
conformity with the new federal constitution. The first drafts
presented for discussion withdrew from some of the Trans¬
caucasian Republics the existing right to treat their own
distinctive non-Slavic languages a§ ‘official’ for purposes of
state business. To the amazement of the West, resistance even
took the form of street demonstrations so turbulent that the
draftsmen, who had undoubtedly been influenced in their first
drafts by pressures from the centre, had to acquiesce.
While the merging of the various cultures of the peoples of
the U.S.S.R. into a single composite ‘Soviet’ culture appears to
remain as a goal, and has been professed as a goal ever since
Stalin claimed it as his own before the delegates to the XVI
Communist Party Congress in 1930, the time for movement in
this direction seems not yet to be ripe. Lenin’s ethnically
structured federation remains, although there has been some
drawing back since the 1936 constitution in which the ethnic
component was given great prominence. Some words on what
happened in 1936 will provide the perspective for what is
happening in reverse today.
The draftsmen of the 1936 constitution introduced a major
change in the federation created in 1922 by adding signific¬
antly to the number of ‘Union Republics’. These Union
Republics had originally been only four, the Russian, the
Ukrainian, the Bielorussian and the Transcaucasian. As Union
Republics they were treated constitutionally as the political
units with broadest legal competence, including the right to
secede from the federation. Within some of them were various
smaller ethnic groups, most of which were considered by the
Communist Party to be as yet politically immature. In con¬
sequence they were placed in a lesser status, subordinate to
20
the republics in which they lived and without the right of

secession.
With the 1936 revision of the governmental structure
established by the new constitution, the number of Republics
of ‘Union’ status was suddenly raised to sixteen, including the
peoples of the Transcaucasus and of Central Asia, and even of
a Finnish ethnic region previously treated as within the
Russian Republic. Stalin found it necessary to explain why
some large groups were not also raised to Union Republic
status, notably the Bashkirs and Tartars. His explanation was
to describe the formula he had applied: a people to be given
Union Republic status had to be a compact ethnic unit, had to
number over one million and had to be located along the rim of
the U.S.S.R. The Bashkirs and Tartars met the first two tests,
but they failed the third. They were ‘landlocked’ by other
regions of the U.S.S.R.
Stalin’s explanation of the rationale for the third test
sounded hollow to Western ears, for it was unreal. It was
simply this: since the Union Republics under the terms of the
constitution had the right to secede, no ethnic group, no matter
how large or compact, could be raised to the highest consti¬
tutional status unless the right of secession could be meaning¬
ful. To Stalin, at least as he explained his formula, secession
could be meaningful only if an ethnic group wishing to secede
were located on a frontier of the U.S.S.R. so that its secession
could bring it into relationship with a capitalist state. Stalin
seemingly wanted no capitalist enclaves within his federation,
and he could not imagine that secession could be desired by a
people that might want to remain socialist but freed of
‘guidance’ from Moscow.
Although the argument sounded hollow to Westerners, the
very fact that it had been made in 1936 caused Western
specialists, in contemplating change in 1977, to speculate that
there might be some reshuffling of the ethnic groups to
promote or demote constitutionally one or another people, and
21
in particular to raise the numerous Bashkir and Tartar peoples

to the status of Union Republics.
Proof that the constitutional status assigned an ethnic
group in 1936 was not to be perpetual came in 1958, when the
Karelian Union Republic (in which the Finns were the
dominant ethnic group) was demoted from Union Republic
status to become an ‘Autonomous Republic’ within the
Russian Republic. The official explanation was that its
economy was tied closely to that of the peoples of the Russian
Republic, and it was rational to merge the Finns into the Great
Russian planning group. Since such an explanation marked a
sharp contrast to the rebuffs to the economic planners who
had argued in earlier years for replacement of the ethnically
based frontiers by economically based frontiers, the demotion
of the Karelian Union Republic naturally caused speculation
in the West. The favoured explanation was that the Karelian
Union Republic had been created in 1936 with the expectation
that it would become a lure to Finland as a whole to join the
U.S.S.R. as a Union Republic. The Russo-Finnish wars of the
early 1940s had dashed such hopes and consequently the
Soviet leadership saw no further rationality in continuing to
give the Karelian Union Republic a status which was irrational
economically. In short, economics had triumphed over eth¬
nicity. The Republic was therefore demoted.
With this experience as a guide, Western analysts in the
1970s speculated as to the future of the Bashkirs and Tartars.
Would they be elevated to Union Republic status in 1977, as
conditions on the frontiers of the U.S.S.R. had changed greatly
since 1936? The capitalist encirclement that had always
concerned Stalin had been broken at several points. No longer
could the Ukrainians or Bielorussians secede to join capitalist
states; their neighbours to the west, namely the Baltic states
and Poland, had declared themselves socialist in the Soviet
model during the post-World War II readjustments to the
realities of Soviet power. In a sense these Union Republics had
22
become as landlocked as the Bashkirs and Tartars.

When the 1977 constitution was published in draft, it was
seen that no changes were to be made in the ranks of the Union
Republics. They remained at fifteen, as they had been since the
Karelian Republic had been demoted. It was evident that the
Bashkirs and Tartars would continue to exist as Stalin had
created them as ‘Autonomous Republics’ within the Russian
Republic and with no constitutional rights to secede. One
Soviet constitutional specialist, while lecturing outside the
U.S.S.R. soon after promulgation of the constitution, was
asked why there had been no elevation of the Bashkirs and
Tartars. He responded that if they had been elevated, the
elevation would have constituted a step away from solution of
the ethnic problem. Presumably, he meant that the goal of
ultimate unity of all peoples, which was compromised of
necessity in 1922 with creation of the federation and the
granting of a constitutional right of secession to restive
peoples, and which was pushed farther into the background in
1936 with extension of the right of secession to the Central
Asian and Transcaucasian peoples, no longer requires com¬
promise. The Bashkirs and Tartars had long lived within the
federation in ‘Autonomous Republic’ status, and the lecturer
saw no need to stimulate nationalism anew by reopening the
issue.
To a Westerner with knowledge of Communist Party
positions on secession, the whole argument over promotion or
demotion of ethnic groups may seem scholastic, for Stalin said
on several occasions that the Communist Party would struggle
against movements to secede because its members could not
countenance what they would consider a step backward in
history to the capitalist epoch. Considering the messianic
component of Soviet policy, this position of Stalin can be
accepted as still valid for Soviet policy-makers. Events in
Eastern Europ'e have proved this to be so, for Poles, Hun¬
garians and East Germans have been forcibly prevented at
23
various times from taking measures which in Soviet eyes

would lift them out of the socialist camp led by the U.S.S.R.
One might argue that Soviet leaders are concerned only with
maintaining what they have always conceived to be a protect¬
ive belt of territory against invasion from the West, but to me at
least Communist Party intransigeance on the issue of
withdrawal from the Soviet model is based on more than fears
of invasion. It springs from ideology, which happens to
coincide with strategic concerns, but which antedates by
several decades the encapsulation of that ideology in a
powerful communist-led ‘commonwealth’.
The ideology of socialist messianism has been adapted to
realities, as the record indicates, and the role of jurists in
drafting the framework of the various forms of adaptation has
been marked. It is they who have prepared the federal
constitution in Moscow, as well as various republic consti¬
tutions. The generalists of the Politburo set the guidelines, but
the jurists in their research institutes draft the statutes to be
presented to the Supreme Soviets of the U.S.S.R. and of the
various Republics for enactment. Although the constitution of
the U.S.S.R. grants to ethnic groups in the Union Republics the
right to secede, thus preserving formally the right to reject the
rule of conformity, there is in fact no likelihood that ethnic
groups will reject the patterns set by the constitutional
draftsmen in the federal constitution. There is only a minimum
of local autonomy allowed by the constitution, which lays
down for every level of government the pattern to be followed
in creating the structure of government. Local autonomy is
limited to variation required by geographical, weather or
cultural imperatives. Not only is the structure of government
established at the centre, but the jurists at the centre draft
‘fundamentals’ to which the jurists of each Republic must
adhere in drafting the detailed codes of law which touch
closely the lives of the people. Since most of the prominent
jurists of the ethnic minorities have been educated in the
24
central law faculties, and are brought back into Moscow from
time to time for consultative conferences, they are fully
informed of trends in thinking and models to be followed. The
legal hierarchy throughout the Republics of the U.S.S.R. is
closely integrated with the specialists of the Institute of State
and Law of the U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences.
While integration with the jurists of states beyond the
U.S.S.R. frontiers but within the communist camp is not as
close as that within the U.S.S.R., it is present in an important
degree. Many of the Polish, Czechoslovak, Hungarian, Bul¬
garian and Romanian jurists have been educated in faculties of
law in the U.S.S.R., and periodical reunions at the Moscow
Institute of State and Law are arranged to keep them informed
of the progress of thought on structures believed necessary to
the implementation of political directives. This was most
noticeable during the years immediately after World War II
when communist parties took power in Eastern Europe. The
constitutions for the new states resembled closely the 1936
U.S.S.R. constitution on which they were modelled, variation
being introduced only to take into account the fact that peoples
in these states would have to be introduced relatively slowly to
new patterns of life, to avoid arousing unmanageable
opposition.
Review of these early Eastern European constitutions
indicates that some aimed to create an economy similar to what
Lenin introduced in the 1920s as his New Economic Policy,
with its restricted form of capitalism. Some introduced min¬
ority political parties alongside the communists, although
they were to be held in check by what Professor Stefan
Rozmaryn of Poland once called a structure of ‘permanent
coalition’, from which no minority party could withdraw in a
bid for power. Some have created presidencies to be occupied
by an individual rather than a collective presidency as in the
U.S.S.R. In spite of these variations, all adhere to fundamentals
which when violated have been defended by Soviet ideologues,
25
backed when necessary by Soviet military might, as in

Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968. In a sense, this
ring of communist-led states around the U.S.S.R. frontiers is a
second circle grouped around the first circle of fifteen Union
Republics of the U.S.S.R.
A third circle lies beyond. It is the group of developing
countries whose leaders declare themselves to be engaged in
establishing ‘scientific socialism’. As has been indicated,
visiting Soviet ideologues teach iheir young people in their
universities, and the most capable students are sent thereafter
to the U.S.S.R. for graduate training. Students of law are
prominent among them, for the lawyers will eventually have
the task of drafting the laws of the new land to conform, as
closely as conditions will permit, to the Soviet model. In 1966
when I spent some time in the Institute of Public Adminis¬
tration and Law at Bamako, in the Republic of Mali, Soviet Law
teachers were on the faculty, and the library was stocked with
Soviet texts in French translation. Clearly, the U.S.S.R. was
doing its best to prepare Keita’s Malians for a socialist
tomorrow in the Soviet mould.
When Keita was ousted by disgruntled soldiers in 1968, the
system collapsed, for Soviet power was too far away to save
him. Soon afterwards a post-mortem was conducted by those
faithful to scientific socialism to attempt to determine why
Moscow-style socialism had not taken root. This is not the
place to review that interesting study, but blame was laid at
Keita’s door for failing to hold to the Soviet model, especially in
failing to maintain a small, disciplined and ideologically
educated monopoly party. The experience in Mali showed that
the dreams of ‘a U.S.S.R. of the world’, as expressed by that
exultant cry at the founding congress of the Soviet federation
in 1922, cannot be realised quickly. Practical problems in
bringing the third circle closer to the U.S.S.R. are still great,
and the events of 1981-2 in Poland indicate that even the
second circle is not yet totally secure. There were emigres who,
26
soon after the second circle’s creation in the late 1940s,

expected all of the states of the second circle soon to be
incorporated within the U.S.S.R.; but this has not happened,
nor does it seem likely to happen in the foreseeable future.
Soviet frontier zones with their limited access routes and their
frontier guards bear mute evidence to the fact that Soviet
policy-makers still draw a sharp line between the Soviet
Republics of the U.S.S.R. itself and the associated socialist
states of the second circle. Military and economic alliance is
not the same as incorporation within the first circle.
As for the third circle, the situation is in flux. States move in
and out of it, as personalities change and pressures are exerted
or countered. Jurists play their role in educating students to
draft laws in the Soviet model, and they also play a significant
role in the field of public international law. That role has
become dramatic because of proceedings in the United Nations
and in other international bodies, both inter-governmental and
non-governmental. In this role Soviet jurists have been as¬
signed the task of influencing the development of international
public law so as to win friends in the Third World and to build
legal defences against penetration of the Soviet Union itself
and of the second circle of associated states.
Soviet literature and Soviet diplomatic manoeuvres make
clear that the whole body of public international law is the
focus of efforts to manage change. Soviet diplomats have
moved far from their stands in the 1920s when they tended to
reject international public law as a whole; today they argue
that they are its strongest supporters in attempting to develop
it so as to reduce Western influences upon regions in which
they have strong interest. Messianism is clearly a motivating
force in what Soviet jurists are trying to do. They repeat on all
occasions that they have a lofty role to play in conducting an
ideological struggle with capitalists in an effort to change the
world.
27
3
Innovation and property concepts
In chapter 1 I called attention to the rock on which the

communist system is built, namely the nationalisation of
productive wealth. To Marx this principle had to be im¬
plemented as soon as the working class seized power, or that
class would be ousted in a counter-revolution led by the
bourgeoisie. Stalin added in justification of this rule that
economic planning, which was expected to be socialism’s
major contribution to human welfare, required total command
of productive property through state ownership. Among
commentators in the West, most notably those believing that
ideology is dead in the U.S.S.R., there is a growing sense that
the rule is too rigidly applied; that there must be some
innovation in forms of property ownership or the communist-
led economies will stagnate. One hears that communists are
aware of this need, and that they are today becoming more
pragmatic than they are doctrinaire.
Admittedly, there is evidence to support such an argument.
The Polish communist leadership has long since permitted
peasants to own land and small manufacturers to employ
labour. The Hungarians have also made concessions to
stimulate productivity on the farms and in the service
industries. For a while in 1981 it looked as if the Polish
communists were willing to go even farther when they
permitted the workers to form an independent trade union,
and the farmers to do likewise. These innovations were
startling, but they did not stand alone in Eastern Europe, nor
29
were they the first. As early as 1948 the Yugoslavs were

pioneers in introducing a mixed economy when ousted by
Stalin from the family of associated communist states, but
their solutions were not favoured by Soviet leaders as models
for other states. Indeed, the Yugoslavs were treated as pariahs,
and Stalin tried to oust Tito from power. Only under Stalin’s
successor, Nikita Khrushchev, was the quarrel patched up in
some measure, but never to the point of accepting the
Yugoslav model.
In spite of these concessions and experiments within the
second circle of socialist states, Soviet leaders continue to hold
doggedly to economic patterns established in 1929 after
termination of an eight-year period of concessions to private
enterprise introduced by Lenin when he adopted his New
Economic Policy. Lenin had showed himself pragmatic in 1921
when he sensed the need to restore a devastated economy after
the ravages of the civil war of 1920-1, but by 1929 Stalin
thought it necessary and possible to return to orthodoxy. In
consequence, today there is no private industry employing
labour in the U.S.S.R. and there has been none for decades.
Such employment was forbidden by the 1936 constitution.
Only the artisan working alone or with his family is currently
allowed to produce, and even the artisan has to be licensed
under a regulation which permits only a limited class of trades.
Also, he is subjected to a law that exacts income tax at
discriminatory rates designed to discourage his trade.
Furthermore, Soviet policy has held firmly to Lenin’s land
decree of early 1918 nationalising all land and providing rules
as to its use. Today not only individuals and co-operatives but
even state enterprise own no land, for it remains in state
ownership to be distributed for use by local governments. The
severe agricultural shortages of the present time have stimu¬
lated no change in land ownership by way of concession. Crop
failures are explained by weather problems, not by the system
of land tenure and use.
30
Innovation and property concepts
Again and again, outsiders have argued that agricultural

production could be improved over its current inadequate
levels only by freeing peasants from the constraints placed
upon them first by enforcement of the policy of state ownership
of land, and second by the limitation of forms of land use to
collective or state farms. In spite of these arguments from
abroad, and in spite of the examples of private farmers in
Hungary and Poland, Soviet leaders have held to their doctrine
of state ownership, and collective use, of land.
To this principle, stated clearly in the 1936 and 1977
constitutions, there has been one marginal exception that has
varied with the economic climate. This is the principle, also
stated in the constitution, of permitting collective and state
farmers to have the use under assignment of plots of land,
strictly limited in size. These are for growing household crops
of vegetables, fruits and such small animals as may be fed with
the crops. The evidence indicates that the leadership would
have liked to eliminate these private plots, or at least reduce
them to the absolute minimum. At times, the farm executive
committees have been encouraged to require members to reduce
the size of the plots and the time they spend on cultivation of
them, and there has been a prohibition against helping farmers
in ploughing and providing seeds. Khrushchev even antici¬
pated the ultimate elimination of the traditional peasant village
by calling for the creation of agricultural cities, to which peas¬
ants would be moved to live in multi-storied apartment houses -
thus bringing about a realisation of Marx’s advice that the city
and peasant village must be brought closer together in cultural
conditions. There was peasant resistance to Khrushchev’s
measures, and after he was ousted in 1964, his successors
found it necessary to promise an end to forced transfer of
populations to agricultural cities. Peasants would be permit¬
ted to remain in their log cabins until they died. To reiterate its
continuing desire to proceed with the urbanisation of peas¬
ants, however, the new regime published a list of villages
31
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Lo spirito di conservazione della classe esigeva, in quel momento,
piuttosto il sacrifizio che il salvataggio di Verre. E così fu fatto.
La lex Aurellia iudiciaria, tenuta in sospeso mentre Verre sembrava
rinunciasse a difendersi, e promulgata, quando parve che
risorgessero il suo ardire e le sue speranze [1060]; fu l'indizio di
questo momento politico, e, per Verre, il pronostico della sua
condanna.
Egli, nella pendenza del giudizio, rimase ancora incerto, cercando,
forse, ancora un'estrema via di scampo.
Mandò un messaggio a Messana, chiedendo che fosse dichiarato
Heio degno d'ignominia per la parte presa contro di lui [1061].
Intanto restava ancora a Roma. Dopo che il primo stadio della causa
fu chiuso, fu visto in casa di L. Sisenna stare a contemplare con
occhi appassionati alcuni arredi di argento, oggetto egli stesso di
curiosità per tutti gli altri [1062].
La fine.
Ma a misura che il secondo periodo della causa stava per

avvicinarsi, vide la necessità di lasciar Roma, e partì in volontario
esilio.
Le speranze erano venute meno in lui; e, presente o assente, la sua
vita pubblica era chiusa per sempre. Fu, in qualche parte, disdegno
che l'indusse a partire, senz'attendere la sentenza? Era sopratutto il
suo interesse che gli dettava di far così.
Troncando col suo volontario esilio quel giudizio di carattere penale,
tra lui ed i Siciliani non vi sarebbe stato più luogo che ad una causa
civile, in cui molto più difficile riesciva il provare i profitti che gli si
attribuivano, e in cui, oltre a tutte le armi che le sottigliezze giuridiche
potevano mettergli in mano, gli doveano giovare anche,
specialmente in quanto all'acquisto delle opere d'arte, que'
documenti, di cui si tentava impugnare l'efficacia nel giudizio di
concussione.
Con questo anche si può spiegare che la condanna di Verre fu
ridotta a tre milioni, soltanto, di sesterzî [1063].
Se ne andò, così, Verre in esilio con le sue ricchezze, con le statue,
che avea saputo mettere in salvo [1064], co' suoi vasi corinzî; ed in
quegli ozî invecchiò, non rimpiangendo forse il prestigio del
comando e l'agitata vita pubblica e le speranze di maggiori onori.
A quelle sue collezioni artistiche teneva tanto, che il non essersene
voluto separare, gli avrebbe, secondo la tradizione, procurata la
morte da parte di M. Antonio, il corinthiarius, che desiderava appunto
i suoi vasi corinzî [1065], e non trovò miglior mezzo, per averli, che
comprendere il proprietario nelle liste di proscrizione triumvirali.
E, se non è inventato per ispirito di parte, e ripetuto per comodità di
rettorica [1066], seppe morire virilmente.
Prima di morire avea anche saputo, e non senza intima
soddisfazione, la morte del suo accusatore [1067], il quale avea resa
più vergognosa e più amara la sua fuga scrivendo quelle orazioni
che non avea potuto tutte pronunziare.
Tutte cose da inserire negl'inventarî della provvidenza divina!
Ma Lattanzio dice [1068] che gli dèi del tempo erano inetti a
vendicarsi, perfino delle ruberie e de' sacrilegî; ed il suo dio,
evidentemente, non guardava ancora a questi suoi regni
d'occidente!
ERRATA CORRIGE
Pag. 37, lin. 4, confidare affidare

» 43, » 3, primi prima
» 53, » 15, procedere procedimento
» 54, » 25, mezza mezzo
» 55, » 30, era eran
» 56, » 4, contamniati contaminati
e
passi
» 57, m: Agrigento Agrigentum
e
passi Siracusa,
» 58, m: Siracusae Syracusae
e
passi Lilibeo,
» 64, m: Lilybeum Lilybaeum
» 80, lin. 11, lece fece
» 91, » 9, spegate spiegate
» 96, » 4, nell'uffizio dell'uffizio
l'anno due anni
appresso appresso
» 103, » 8, (73 a. C.) (72 a. C.)
» 104, » 4, avuta avuto
e
passi
» 108, m: Messina Messana
e
passi
» 109, m: Agyrrium Agyrium
» 165, lin. 19, presa preso
INDICE
I.
LVXVRIA INCVBVIT VICTVMQUE VLCISCITVR ORBEM
Le conquiste oltremarine di Roma Pag. 3

La nuova vita romana 6
La rivoluzione economica 9
I cavalieri 11
Il nuovo costume 13
Disparità delle fortune 14
La vita politica 16
La corruzione elettorale e la dilapidazione delle provincie 17
II.
PRAEDIA POPULI ROMANI
La formazione delle provincie 21

Il diritto di guerra 22
Le conseguenze della conquista 24
La lex provinciae 25
Sistema d'imposizione 27
Le provincie e i magistrati 29
Il governatore della provincia e i suoi dipendenti 31
I pubblicani 33
I negotiatores 36
La praefectura e la legatio libera 37
III.
PATRONA SOCIORUM
Roma e gli stranieri ivi

L'origine delle leges de repetundis. La lex Calpurnia 41
La lex Junia 43
La lex Acilia 44
Le leges Serviliae 50
La lex Cornelia de repetundis 52
La pena 53
Le vicende del potere giurisdizionale e de' giudizî 55
IV.
INSULA CERERIS
La conquista e l'ordinamento della Sicilia 57

Le città di Sicilia 60
La condizione delle città 62
Città federate ed indipendenti ivi
Città decumane 63
Città censorie 64
Altri tributi 65
Ordinamento locale 66
Sistemi d'elezione 67
Le leges Rupiliae 68
La lex Hieronica 70
I poteri del governatore 74
Le condizioni economiche della Sicilia 76
V.
HOMO AMENS AC PERDITUS?
Le Verrine 79
C. Verre e la sua famiglia 82
La questura di Verre 84
La legazione e la proquestura di Verre 87
Il viaggio 88
L'avventura di Lampsaco 89
Il brigantino di Mileto 90
Verre tutore 91
Verre e Dolabella in giudizio 92
La pretura di Verre 94
L'eredità di P. Annio 96
L'eredità di P. Trebonio ivi
L'eredità di Sulpicio Olympo 97
Verre e la lex Voconia ivi
Verre e la lex Cornelia de proscriptis 99
Verre e il diritto successorio de' patroni 100
La giustizia di Verre 101
Chelidone 102
La manutenzione de' pubblici edifici 103
La sortitio iuniana 106
VI.
QUASI IN PRAEDAM
Verre e i suoi accoliti in Sicilia 107

L'eredità di Apollodoro Laphirone 108
L'eredità di Sosippo e Philocrate 109
I metodi giudiziari di Verre ivi
L'eredità di Eraclio Siracusano 110
L'eredità di Epicrate 112
La condanna di Sopatro di Halycia 113
Il caso di Stenio da Thermae 114
L'ingerenza nelle elezioni de' magistrati locali 116
I sacerdozî 117
I censori ivi
Le statue 118
Le esportazioni abusive 119
L'amministrazione frumentaria. -- Verre e la lex Hieronica 120
Le angherie degli agricoltori 122
Le città e il riscatto delle decime 124
Le compere di frumento 127
La caccia alle opere d'arte 129
I sacrilegî 133
Le cospirazioni degli schiavi 136
La flotta e i pirati 137
Il supplizio de' navarchi 139
I ricatti e le uccisioni 140
Lo stato della Sicilia sotto Verre ivi
Le gazzarre del pretore e della coorte 141
L'addensarsi della tempesta e gli scongiuri 142
VII.
AD ARAM LEGUM
Il carattere dell'accusa e l'ambiente 144
Cicerone 146
I primi maneggi di Verre 149
La proposizione dell'accusa. Cicerone e Q. Cecilio 150
La Divinatio 152
L'inquisizione di Cicerone 155
Il ritorno di Cicerone 161
La candidatura di Cicerone e i preliminari della causa 162
I giudici della causa 164
Le elezioni 168
Alla vigilia del giudizio 169
La causa 170
Ortensio e Cicerone 172
Gli ultimi maneggi di Verre 175
Il sistema d'accusa di Cicerone. -- L'orazione 176
L'oggetto dell'imputazione 180
Il danno e il risarcimento 182
L'esame delle prove e de' testimoni 183
Il contegno di Ortensio e di Verre 192
Gl'incidenti del giudizio ivi
Il primo stadio del giudizio 194
La difesa di Verre? ivi
La natura delle accuse 195
La questura e la proquestura ivi
La pretura 196
Il valore delle prove ivi
L'ordinamento della Sicilia e il ius edicendi 199
Il controllo de' giudizî 200
La giurisdizione 201
La creazione de' magistrati locali 205
Le statue ivi
Il conferimento de' sacerdozî 206
Le esportazioni 208
Verre e la lex Hieronica ivi
Gli elementi di fatto dell'accusa 214
Le decime di Leontini 215
Il frumentum imperatum e l'aestimatum 216
La ruina dell'agricoltura siciliana 219
Le opere d'arte 222
Verre e i suoi acoliti 224
Le prevaricazioni 225
Le benemerenze di Verre ivi
La sicurezza in Sicilia 227
I pirati ed i provvedimenti per la flotta 228
L'opera di Verre 231
La causa dal punto di vista politico 232
La fine 234
NOTE:
1. Herod. V, 49-50, ed. Stein.
2. Fragm. hist. graec., ed. Didot, II, 131, 88.
3. Rhein. Mus., 1886. E. Meyer. Die Ueberlieferung über die lykurgische

Verfassung, 585 seg.
4. Polyb. Hist., I, 1, 5, ed. Büttner-Wobst.
5. VI, 57.
6. Mommsen Röm. Gesch. Berlin, 1888, I8, 781.
7. Juv. Sat., II, 6, 295, ed. Weidner.
8. Ovid. A. A., III, 113-4, ed. Riese.
9. Bouché-Leclercq. Manuel des institutions romaines. Paris, 1886, pp.

60, 62, 82.
10. M. Terenti Varronis. Saturarum Menippearum reliquiae. Leipz., 1865,

ed. Riese, p. 215.
11. Mommsen-Blacas. Hist. de la monnaie romaine. Paris, 1870, II, 28.
12. Lenormant et De Witte. Élite des monuments ceramogr. Intr., pp.

XLII, XLIII, XLV.
Belot. De la révolution économique et monétaire qui eut lieu à Rome du
III siècle. Paris, 1886, pag. 113.
13. Belot. La révolut. économ., p. 115.
14. Belot E. Histoire des chévaliers Romains. Paris, 1873, II, p. 4 e seg.
15. Belot E. Loc. cit., p. 146.
16. Deloume A. Les manieurs d'argent à Rome. Paris, 1891, p. 29.

17. Rhein. Mus. 1886. E. Meyer, l. c., p. 586.
18. Satur. ed. Lachmann, p. 118, v. 1067.
19. Saalfeld u. Gunther. Der Hellenismus in Latium. Wolfenbüttel, 1888,

pp. 2, 38 etc.
20. Horat. Carm. II, 16, ed. Keller-Holder.
21. Varron. Sat. Menipp., ed. Riese, Τάφη Μενίππου, p. 225.
22. Plin. N. H., XXXVI, 2, 4-6, ed. Ianus.
23. Varron. Sat. Menipp., p. 103, II, 2.
24. Marquardt J. Das Privatleben der Römer. Leipzig, 1886, pag. 221 e
seg.
25. Jordan H. Topographie der Stadt Rom in Alterthum. Berlin, 1878, I Bd. I
Th. p. 297.
26. Friedländer. Darstellungen aus der Sittengeschichte Roms. Leipzig,

1881, I, p. 3.
27. Sat. Menip., p. 141, VII, 6.
28. Ed. Lachmann, p. 90, v. 834.
29. Plin. N. H., XXXIII, 134.
30. Ihne W. Röm. Gesch. Leipzig, 1870, II, p. 395.
31. Comic. Roman. fragm., ed. O. Ribbeck. Lipsiae, 1878, p. 358, v. 644.
32. Maximum aes alienum amplissimorum virorum Cic. ad fam. 1, 6; 7, 3. --

Drumann. Gesch. Rom's. Königsberg, 1844, III, 186.
33. Dureau de la Malle. Économ. polit. des Romains. Paris, 1840, II, 219
e seg.; 234 e seg.
34. Sat. Menip., p. 217, XVII, 16.
35. Loc. cit. p. 110, XXIV, 6, 17.
36. Loc. cit. p. 211, V, 3.

37. Loc. cit. p. 216, VI, 13.
38. Neumann. Geschichte Roms während des Verfalles der Republik.

Breslau, 1881, I Bd. 26-7.
39. Beloch J. Die Bevölkerung der Griechisch-Römischen Welt. Leipzig,

1886, I, p. 393.
40. Neumann. Op. cit. I, 87.
41. Fragm. Comic. Roman., ed. Ribbeck, pag. 27.
42. Satir. Menip., pp. 100 e 216.
43. Labatut Edm. La corruption électorale chez les Romains. Paris, 1876,
p. 89 e seg.; Gentile I. Le elezioni e il broglio nella Repubblica romana.
Milano, 1879, p. 249 e seg.
44. Willems. Les élections municipales à Pompei. Paris, 1887, p. 26 e

segg.
45. Das Kapital. Hamburg, 1890, I4, pp. 95-6.
46. Labatut. Op. cit. pp. 107, 111, 181 etc.
47. Sat., ed. Lachmann, p. 111, v. 1020 b.
48. Liv. XXI, 63, 4; Cic. A. S. in Verr., V, 18, 45; L. 3, D. 50, 5 de vacat. et
excusat. munerum. Mommsen. St. R. I3, 497; III, 898 e seg.
49. C. Suet. Tranq. Div. Iul. 54, ed. Roth.
50. Orat. Rom. fragm., ed. H. Meyer. Turici, 1842, p. 281; Aul. Gell. 15, 12,
ed. Hertz.
51. Valer. Max. IV, 3, 11, ed. Haase.
52. C. Crisp. Sallust. Bell. Iug. 35, 10 ed. Dietsch.
53. Nitzsch. Gesch. der Röm. Republik. Leipzig, 1884, I, p. 188; II, p. 20.
54. Cic. Pro Font. 19, ed. Klotz.

Arnold W. T. The roman system of provincial administration to the
accession of Costantin the Great. London, 1879, p. 8.
55. Aristot. Polit, I, 2, 20, ed. Susemihl.
56. Cic. in Verr. A. S., II, 3, 7.
57. Gal. II, 7.
58. Lex. agr. a. 643 C. I. L., I, 175, n. 200; Bruns5. Fontes iuris antiqui, p.
72.
59. Liv. XXXXV, 18, ed. Weissenborn.
60. Liv. XXXXV, 18.
61. Liv. XXX, 16.
62. Liv. XXXXV, 18.
63. Arnold. Op. cit. 180-7. -- Kuhn. Die stadtische und bürgerliche
Verfassung des Römisches Reichs. Leipzig, 1865, II, 1-80.
64. Liv. XXXI, 31, 8, ... captam iisdem armis et liberatam urbem reddidimus;
Plut. Marc. 23, ed. Sintenis.
65. Bergfeld. Die Organisation der röm. Provinzen. Neustrelitz, 1846, p.

16 e seg.; Polyb. 22, 7.
66. Arnold. Op. cit. 201 e seg.; Marquardt. Staatsverwaltung, I2, 269 e
seg.; Person. Essai sur l'administration des provinces romaines sous la
République. Paris, 1878, pp. 89-113; Kuhn. Op. cit. 1-41; Marx. Essai
sur les pouvoirs du gouverneur de province. Paris, 1880, p. 20 e seg.;
D'Hughes. Une province romaine sous la République. Paris, 1876, p.
15-50.
67. Cic. in Verr. A. S., II, 66, 160; De prov. cons. 3, 6; Strab. IV, 1, 5: C. I.
G., 2222, vv. 16-7.
68. Cic. in Verr. A. S., III, 73; 77, 180; IV, 9, 20, 21; 34, 76; C. I. L., I.
Plebisc. de Thermes, 52-6; Strab. VIII, 5, 5, ed. Müller-Dubner; Kuhn.
Op. cit. 30-1.
69. Marquardt. StVerw. I2, 92.
70. Arnold. Op. cit. p. 215.
71. Arnold. Op. cit. p. 188; Marquardt. StVerv. II2, 201-2.

72. Marquardt. StVerv., II2, 192-3; Plin. N. H., XXI, 77; XXXIII, 51.
73. Cic. in Verr. A. S., iii, 70, 163; iii, 6, 13; III, 73, 170; Pro Flacc. 12, 14;
Liv. XXI, 19; xxxii, 27; xxxvi, 4; xliii, 8; Person. Op. cit. 161-9.
74. Liv. XXIII, 21, 5; 32, 9; 41, 6; xxxvi, 2, 13; xlii, 31, 8.
75. Liv. XL, 51, 8; Vell. Pat., ii, 6, 3, ed. Haase.
76. Liv. epit. 20.
77. Liv. XXXII, 27; Mommsen. Staatsrecht, II3, 198.
78. Laboulaye Ed. Essai sur les lois criminelles des Romains. Paris, 1845,
XXII-XXIII.
79. Rudorff. De iurisdictione edictum. Edicti perpetui quae reliqua sunt.

Lipsiae, 1869, p. 6-7; Cic. in Verr. A. S., I. 46; ad Att. 6, 1, 15; ad fam.
III, 8, 4, 5; Ascon. in Cornel. p. 58, 15 Orelli, Dio. Cass. 36, 40, (23) ed.
Dindorf.
80. Hermes. IV, 120 e seg.
81. Neumann. Gesch. Rom's. I, 62.
82. Op. cit. pp. 62-70.
83. L. 1, § 1, D. 39, 4 de publicanis, ed. Mommsen.
84. Deloume. Les manieurs d'argent, pp. 253-61.
85. XXXV, 18.
86. Diod. Sic. V, 26, 3, 4, ed. Müller; Caes. Bel. Gal., III, 1, 2.
87. Ad. Quint. fratr., I, 1, ed. Wesenberg.
88. Deloume. Op. cit. p. 403 e seg.; Boissier. Cicéron et ses amis. Paris,
1865, pp. 65-6.
89. Ad. Quint. fr., I, 1, 13.
90. Cic. Pro Planc., 13, 33.
91. Le Correspondant 1874. A. Nisard. Un gouverneur de province au

temps de Cicéron, p. 752 e seg.
92. Ad. Quint. fr., I, 1, 11.
93. Deloume. Op. cit. pp. 95, 176.
94. Cic. Pro. C. Rab. Post., 2, 4.
95. Cic. in Verr. A. S., II, 29.
96. Cic. ad Att., VI, 1, 5, 6.
97. Cic. ad Att., VI, 1, 6.
98. Cic. pro Flac., 84, 86; de leg. agr., I, 3, 8; Arnold. Op. cit., p. 75.
99. Fest. s. v. Reciperatio, 274 Muller.
100. Dionys. VI, 95, ed. Jacoby.
101. Bethmann-Hollweg. Der röm. Civilprocess. Bonn, 1864, I, 53, 67-8.
102. Voigt. Das jus naturale aequum et bonum und jus gentium der Römer.
Leipzig, 1858, II, 218.
103. Op. cit. II, 219-20.
104. Liv. XLIII, 2.
105. Willems. Le sénat de la république romaine. Paris, 1888, II, 275-6.
106. Voigt. Op. cit. II, 193.
107. Zumpt A. W. Das Criminalrecht der röm. Republik. Berlin, 1868, II, 1, p.
16.
108. Belot. De la revolut. économ. p. 26; Bethmann-Hollweg. Op. cit., I,

69.
109. Dionys. VI, 95.
110. Voigt. Op. cit., II, 196.
111. Liv. XLIII, 8; Zumpt C. T. De legibus iudiciisque repetundarum in

Republica Romana. Berlin, 1895, p. 9; Zumpt A. W. Op. cit., II, 1, p. 20.
112. Cic. Brut. 27, 106; De off., II, 21, 75.

113. Rein. Das Criminalrecht der Römer. Leipzig, 1844, p. 614.
114. Mommsen. Röm. St R., II3, 583.
115. Mommsen. St. R., II3, 223-4; Laboulaye. Essai sur les lois criminelles
des Romains. Paris, 1845, p. 198.
116. Bruns5. Fontes iuris Romani antiqui, ed. Mommsen. Lex Acilia repet.
vs. 23 e 74.
117. Annali dell'Istituto di corrispondenza archeologica (1849), vol. 21, p. 9.
118. C. I. L., I, p. 54.
119. Rein. Op. cit., 615-6.
120. Zumpt C. T. De legibus iudiciisque etc. p. 15; Rein. Op. cit., 646 e seg.;
Zumpt Der Criminalprocess der röm. Republik. Leipzig, 1871, p. 468 e
seg.
121. Val. Max. (V, 8, 3) narra del caso di D. Iunio Silano, ma questi non
venne sottoposto all'ordinario procedimento della quaestio, bensì, per
volere concorde anche degli accusatori, deferito al giudicio del padre,
che di ciò avea fatta domanda, e riconosciuto da lui colpevole, finì
suicida (Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 21). Lentulo è detto da Val. Max. (VI, 9, 10)
condannato secondo la lex Caecilia, ma deve intendersi Calpurnia. C. I.
L., p. 54; Zumpt Cr. Pr., 468; Cr. R., II, 1, 25; Rein. Op. cit. 646.
122. App. B. Civ., I, 22, ed. Mendelsohn; Cic. in Verr. A. S., 1, 13; Velleius.
II, 6, 3; 13, 2; 32, 3; Flor. III, 17, ed. Salmasii; Plin. N. H., XXXIII, 34;
Tacit. Ann., XII, 60, ed. Nipperdey; Belot. Hist. des chev., II, 233 e seg.
123. C. I. L., I, p. 54.
124. Cic. in Verr. A. I, 17, 51, 52.
125. Karlowa. Röm. Rechtsgesch. Leipzig, 1885, I, 432 e seg.
126. Cr. R., II, 1.
127. C. I. L., I, p. 64.
128. Lex Ac. rep. v. 2.
129. C. I. L., I, p. 64.

130. Lex Acil. rep., v. 59.
131. Lex Ac. rep., v. 58.
132. Lex Ac. rep.., v. 57.
133. Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 159.
134. Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 160.
135. Lex Ac. rep., v. 57.
136. Lex Ac. rep., v. 62 e seg.
137. Orelli, 569.
138. Lex Ac. rep., v. 12, 16.
139. C. I. L., I, p. 65; Mommsen. St. R., II3, p. 191, A. I.
140. Lex Ac. rep., v. 13, 16, 17.
141. Loc. cit., v. 18.
142. Lex Ac. rep., 1, 20.
143. Lex Ac. rep., v. 22-23. Si trovano di nuovo qui eccepiti tutti quei
funzionari, che innanzi erano stati eccepiti come incapaci di entrare tra i
quattrocento cinquanta, il che ha dato luogo a dissensi d'interpretazioni
e di supplementi, in cui non entro, trattandosi di una discussione
speciale che non riguarda questo lavoro. Cfr. Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 127 e
seg.
144. Lex Ac. rep., v. 25-6.
145. Loc. cit. v. 30-1.
146. Loc. cit. v. 30-3; Voigt. Op. cit. IV, 385.
147. Lex Ac. rep., v. 36-56.
148. Loc. cit. v. 56.
149. Loc. cit. v. 76-79.
150. C. I. L., I, p. 56.

151. Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 187-8.
152. Iul. Obsequ. prodig. lib. c. 101 (41) ed. Jahn; Cassiod. Chron. s. a.
648, ed. Mommsen.
153. Tacit. Ann., XII, 60; Cic. de inv., I, 49; Brut., 44, 164.
154. Laboulaye. Op. cit. 231 e seg.; Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 192 e seg.; Geib.
Gesch. des röm. Criminalprocess. Leipzig, 1842, p. 198.
155. Cic. Brut., 62, 224.
156. Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 192.
157. Cic. Pro Rab. Post., 4, 8.
158. Cic. in Verr. A. S., I, 9, 26.
159. Cic. Pro Balb., 24, 54.
160. Cic. Brut, 22, 86; Val. Max. VIII, 1, 11.
161. S. v. res comperendinata, p. 282, Müller.
162. Cic. in Verr., I, 9.
163. Geib. Op. cit. p. 378.
164. C. R., II, (1), 359, 371.
165. Cic. Pro C. Rab. Post., 4, 8.
166. Cic. in Verr. A. S., II, 31, 77.
167. Cic. in Verr. A. S., IV, 5, 10. Dicet aliquis: Noli isto modo agere cum
Verre, noli eius facta ad antiquae religionis rationem exquirere; concede
ut impune emerit, modo ut bona ratione emerit, nihil pro potestate nihil et
invito, nihil per iniuriam.
168. Cic. in Verr. A. S., I, 22; IV, 5.
169. Cic. in Verr. A. S., II, 21.
170. Cic. in Verr. A. S., II, 58, 142.
171. Cic. in Verr. A. S., III, 72, 168.

172. Cic. in Verr. A. S., IV, 4, 8.
173. V, 3.
174. Ps. Asc. p. 146, Orelli; Rein. Op. cit. 622.
175. Op. cit. 622; Cic. in Verr. A. S., II, 31, 76.
176. Zumpt C. T. De legibus et iudiciis, etc. 41.
177. v., 23.
178. Rhetoric. ad Herenn., I, 11, 20, ed. C. L. Kayser.
179. Zeitschr. der Sav. Stift. für R. G., IX (XXII), R. A., p. 403; C. I. L., XII,
6038.
180. Cic. Div. in Q. Caecil., 5; A. S., I, 10.
181. Zumpt C. T. De legib. iudic., etc. p. 40.
182. Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 361.
183. Cic. Div. in Q. Caecil., 5.
184. Cic. ap. Ascon. in Cornel. p. 79, Orelli; Zumpt C. R., II, (1), 259; Zumpt
C. T. De legib., p. 85.
185. Orelli Baiter. Onomasticon Tullianum, Turici, 1838, Index legum s. v.

Aurellia iudiciaria.
186. Appian. B. C., I, 35.
187. Zumpt A. W. Criminalprocess, p. 469 e seg.; Rein. Op. cit. 646 e seg.
188. Cic. Div., 21; A., I, 13.
189. Cic. in Verr., A., I, 13.
190. Cic. Pro Sest., 64, 35; in Vat., 12, 29; in Pison, 37, 90.
191. Zumpt C. R., II, (2), 294 e seg.; Rein. Op. cit. 623 e seg.; Zumpt C. T.
De legib., p. 60; Laboulaye. Op. cit. p. 300.
192. Liv. Epit., 19; XXX, 44; Polyb. I, 61, 3.

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Managing change in the U.S.S.R.

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The Goodhart Lectures

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

© Cambridge University Press 1983

First published 1983

Printed in Great Britain at

Library of Congress catalogue card number: 83-1792

British Library cataloguing in publication data

ISBN 0 521 25316 0

The Goodhart Lectures page vii

1 Promises and problems 1

2 Ideology and expansion 13

3 Innovation and property concepts 29

5 Production versus rights of enterprise directors 59

6 Science, religion and dissent 73

7 Productivity versus labour protection 83

8 Warring against deviance 97

9 Mobilising imagination 107

10 Mobilisation and liberalism 121

11 Social insurance or tort law 137

12 State intervention in family affairs 153

Select bibliography 175

Arthur Lehman Goodhart devoted his life to the study of law.

ted treatise, for he could find such works in the Bodleian

first move must be to ‘smash the bourgeoisie’. But what was to

The spectre of unmanageable change is haunting Soviet

society as a whole is fading. Of course, this sense of

work. Because of their parents’ success these youths have

and technology, in which the U.S.S.R. was lagging. He called

What is happening today is that these leaders perceive that

have they forgotten Lenin’s admonition that the masses will

communists who see in their position an opportunity not so

Party Congress that they must pay attention to workers’

is a controlled purge of individuals, a managed purge, and not

communists, eventually lead to the unmanageable demands of

during the final months of 1981 concluded that this 1917

The focus of chapter 1 was upon domestic promises and

then embedded in practice. It is a formula, a technique, with

tions from Moscow, and eventually take orders without

came to the eyes of a law professor, now deceased, when he

‘Socialist in content; national in form’. It took legal shape in

even in fields in which they were permitted to innovate.

seems to Western analysts to have been a woefully misguided

the republics in which they lived and without the right of

in particular to raise the numerous Bashkir and Tartar peoples

become as landlocked as the Bashkirs and Tartars.

various times from taking measures which in Soviet eyes

backed when necessary by Soviet military might, as in