Delegates Go Home --One Is Angry and the Other Is Pleased

As the Soviet Congress of People’s Deputies on Thursday ended what was likely to be its last session, Kharkov taxi driver Leonid Sukhov prepared to toss his deputy’s card in despair, while opera singer Mikhail Muntyan headed home to Moldova convinced that his southwestern republic is closer to independence.

Sukhov stalked out of the hall when the Congress passed a key measure to hand much of the central government’s power to the republics, thus hastening the Soviet empire’s collapse and effectively legislating itself out of existence.

In the marble-floored lobby, he debated how best to demonstrate his protest against what he saw as the dangerous breakup of the country.

“Maybe I’ll go in and express myself by throwing down my deputy’s card!” he said. “Leaving the hall isn’t enough. I have to make a challenge, to appeal to the voters who didn’t support me in time.”

In the end, there was no chance to protest, with the Congress halting at midday after a brief break.

By midafternoon, Muntyan, the opera singer, was packing in his hotel room to return to his home in Kishinev and saying: “I think we won something. At least, the Congress approved the clause that it respects the sovereignty and independence of the republics.”

Soviet President Mikhail S. Gorbachev had pushed the deputies shamelessly into passing the measures, Muntyan said, adding: “Gorbachev crushed everyone. This last day didn’t smell of democracy.” But Muntyan was on his way home to meet voters, who, he said, “will understand that life has to somehow get back onto its normal rails.”

Moldova’s recently declared independence was not recognized, but a step forward was made, he said, sounding satisfied and cheered at the thought of getting back to the stage.

It was a tiring four-day Congress, with eight-hour sessions augmented by delegation meetings. Both men said they attended such sessions the night before, when delegations worked out their positions on the proposed governmental changes. They returned to their hotel rooms late at night.

With all his efforts seemingly for naught, Sukhov said he felt “oppressed” by the dreary prospect of returning to face voters who had denied him letter-and-telegram support at a crucial juncture. He was filled with bitterness at the way his two-year career as a lawmaker appeared to be ending.

“I’m indignant about the people in the Presidium,” he said. “They’re all Communists who carried their party cards next to their hearts and persuaded us that Lenin was a genius of world politics. Now, they’ve rejected him only for the sake of power. For power, they’re prepared to carry anyone near their heart.”

And, he added: “I’m indignant about the deputies who sat around me and thought only about how to get home as fast as possible, having grabbed some gifts for the kids. I have five of them, and I’d also like to bring something, but I’m going away empty-handed, carrying only the documents I’ve been given.”

Under the new rules, the Supreme Soviet, the country’s standing legislature, will be elected by the republics rather than at the Congress as had been done before.

Sukhov doubts that he can be elected. “You know my position,” he said. “What leaders need a person who can sometimes tell the truth to his face in front of everyone?”

Muntyan was not even interested.

“I do art,” he said simply.

The Congress outcome left Sukhov even more dubious about his future at home, where he plans to resume his job as a taxi driver.

“I’ll go back, and I don’t even know what I’ll find,” he said. “Let’s say I come home, the ties between republics have been cut and there are no cars for me. What can they offer me?

“They’ll probably offer me what I deserve,” he said with black humor. “What this whole Parliament deserves, but what I deserve, too, because I didn’t find the arguments to tip the scales in my favor.”