This Anxiety Attack Could Be Fatal : The people are deeply depressed by the chaos of transition and may seek relief in old nostrums, even dictatorship.

From the window of my hotel, late at night lights can be seen burning in the skyscraper that houses the ministry of Foreign Affairs. The duty officers on the sixth and seventh floors, where Eduard Shevardnadze’s office is located, are at work around the clock, like their colleagues in Washington and London and Paris. But the main action here is no longer in that building, nor is it in the Central Committee, nor perhaps even in the Kremlin. Where is it?

The issue came up at a conference here earlier this month. The Soviet participants, virtually without exception, were deeply pessimistic about the future of their country, and those from the West found themselves in the unaccustomed role of having to comfort and cheer up their colleagues from the East. One Soviet speaker provided an explanation for the divergence of opinion: The West had lived for decades in fear of the Soviet Bloc and of war; there had been constant crises and a permanent arms race. This was now over; no wonder that anxiety in the West had given place to near-euphoria. But for Soviet citizens there waslittle consolation; the shops were empty, there was no indication for improvement in the near future. Public opinion was getting more and more polarized; there was a general feeling of decay and disintegration. The reformers, the party of freedom, were fighting a losing battle; things would come to a head next February or March when supplies would probably run out. Confronting chaotic conditions, the majority would opt for strong government, and this would spell the end of the Soviet experiment in democracy--at least for a long time to come.

These are weighty arguments, and it is perfectly true that the gravity of the situation is not fully understood in the West. It is also true that the (relative) optimism of foreign observers refers to the more distant rather than the immediate future.

In any case, it is always easier to take a detached view from a safe distance. In all probability, the Soviet Union will confront a major crisis in the months to come, and it is quite possible that, fearful of the near-chaotic conditions of the transition period, the people will vote for the party of order--that is to say, a dictatorship of sorts. Such a government might be a little more successful at restoring vital supplies in the short run, but it will aggravate national tension, and it will be no more successful at stabilizing the economic situation than the military regime in Poland was in the 1980s.

Setbacks in the transition period are more likely than not. But do they justify the apocalyptic views now voiced almost in unison in Moscow? Is it not also true that pessimism has always been deeply rooted in Russian history, and that, to some extent, its present extreme manifestation is a reaction against the official, fraudulent optimism of the last 70 years?

Purgatory and the road to Calvary have been constant preoccupations of Russian literature. It is only natural that these old themes would rise as the upbeat mood of 1987-88 gave way to a realization of the truly momentous tasks facing the country. But again, it is also true that mood is largely a matter of perception; 20 years ago, America was shrouded in deep pessimism, and 10 years ago, Euro-pessimism was the general fashion all over the Continent. In 1918, few would have believed that within a mere 20 years Russia would again be a major power, and in 1945, few envisaged the re-emergence of Germany and Japan as leading economies.

The difficulties facing Soviet society now are not insurmountable. The supply situation might improve after January when higher prices will be paid to producers. Even now the situation is better in some parts of this giant country--for instance in southern Russia--than in Moscow and Leningrad. It is quite likely that as time passes, many of the republics now favoring full independence will accept something less than total separation. Even a dictatorial regime could not turn the clock back to the situation as it was under Brezhnev.

To some extent the present situation appears quite normal to the visitor from the West--incipient democracy with all its dangers, uncertainties and discontents and fears of the tomorrow. But a great many Soviet citizens are not accustomed to living with fears and uncertainties of this kind, and they see sickness unto death where there are, in truth, merely the birth-pangs of a new order, exceedingly painful but not necessarily fatal.

In the final analysis the present crisis is not one of insufficient supplies of potatoes, sausage and tobacco. It is difficult to meet undernourished people in the streets of Moscow, and they still drink and smoke far too much for their own good. Rather it is a crisis of perception--the old certainties have disappeared, the reformers have been unable to deliver.

The Russian people have shown almost inhuman patience in the face of adversity throughout history. It would be sad if impatience were to prevail at this crucial stage. For 70 years they have been singing, to quote the Internationale, that salvation would not come from God, king or popular tribune, but only through common action. Yet, unfortunately, in their innermost heart they always believed that in the last instance leadership would work wonders. Today it should be clear that even the most farsighted leader can accomplish little but for the wholehearted collaboration of the people. They may make the wrong choice, but this is not foreordained.