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9 October 1995

To the Editor:

MORE ON THE 1956 POLISH CRISIS

I read the essay "Poland, 1956: Khrushchev, Gomulka and the Polish October," by L.W. Gluchowski, and the accompanying documents in CWIHP Bulletin 5 (Spring 1995), pp. 1, 38-49, with enormous interest, the reason for which will be evident in a moment.

Upon completion of the reading, however, I was thoroughly puzzled by what I saw as a major omission from the author's introductory essay. Though the material appears in the documents and in footnotes to them, there is no mention at all in the body of the essay concerning one of the most crucial aspects that determined the ultimate outcome of the confrontation between the Soviet and Polish communist party leaders in Warsaw. It concerns the movement of Soviet military forces toward Warsaw, the circumstances in which the Polish party leadership learned of the movements, and the threatened response of Polish military units. It appears as a single line in Document 3 (p. 43), is amplified in Gomulka's rendition of the events to the Chinese in Document 4 (p. 44), and in footnote 61, quoting Mikoyan's notes. The threatened response of Polish military units is not mentioned in the documents at all, or by the author.

Gluchowski also quotes two of the comments in Khrushchev's memoirs; the first"...the people of Warsaw had been prepared to defend themselves and resist Soviet troops entering the city..."-without asking what "Soviet troops," from where; and the second-"...our own armed strength far exceeded that of Poland, but we didn't want to resort to the use of our own troops"-without pointing out that it is belied by Khrushchev's outburst at the October 19 meeting (quoted on page 40): "That number won't pass here. We are ready for active intervention....I would like the comrades to voice their views on this matter: intervention or..."

It seems very likely, even obvious, that Khrushchev gave the order for the move

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In 1980 or thereabouts, I was given a description of the same climactic meeting L.W. Gluchowski responds: between the Soviet and Polish leaderships by a former Polish party and government official who had before 1956 been close to the Polish First Secretary, Central Committee Chairman and Prime Minister, Boleslaw Bierut. That rendition adds information beyond that which appears in Gomulka's description to the Chinese party in Document 4. I recorded the comments at the time. The note which a Polish official handed to Gomulka during the meeting with the Soviets and which informed him of the Soviet troop movements resulted from information reported to Warsaw by Polish military officers ("colonels"). In addition, Polish Air Force General Frey-Bielecki requested permission to bomb the Soviet columns as they converged on Warsaw. Some Polish Air Force units apparently threatened such action whether they received authority to do so or not. (As I recall, Frey-Bielecki agreed to make the request when some of his officers informed him of those threats, telling him what they intended to do. With that, he decided to approach the political leadership.) The Polish internal security forces were also preparing some sort of resistance. Gomulka was the source of Khrushchev's assessment that "the people of Warsaw had been prepared to defend themselves." Gomulka apparently told him, in effect, "Leave us alone and everything will be OK; if not, there will be a popular uprising." And the Russians thought that the Poles would fight; in the words of the Polish official, "All the Czech traditions are different."

One might add one more point. Gluchowski never comments on the proposals for union, although Khrushchev refers to

I would like to thank Mr. Leitenberg for his thoughtful comments on my documentary essay, "Poland 1956: Khrushchev, Gomulka, and the Polish October," in the Spring 1995 issue of the CWIHP Bulletin. With regard to Mr. Leitenberg's comment that he was "thoroughly puzzled” by “a major omission from" my "introductory essay" concerning "one of the most crucial aspects that determined the ultimate outcome of the confrontation," notably "the movement of Soviet military forces towards Warsaw...[and] the circumstances in which the Polish party leadership learned of the movements," I shall be brief. Any discussion about the military aspects of the SovietPolish confrontation of October 1956 is bound to be controversial at this early stage of archival research in Poland. In any case, I decided to let this set of documents speak for themselves, and no less than six endnotes include extensive discussions of military matters during the crisis. Even Mr. Leitenberg acknowledges that "the material appears in the documents and in the footnotes to them." Furthermore, in the body of my essay, I noted: "Three days in October [18 to 20] 1956 resolved four outstanding and interrelated conflicts of the deStalinization period in Poland." The second conflict I outlined reads as follows: "the Soviet threat to intervene militarily in the affairs of the Polish Party ended with a compromise agreement on the part of the CPSU leadership and the PUWP leadership." It is clear that I agree with Mr. Leitenberg: "one of the most crucial aspects" of the confrontation in Warsaw had to

do with the threat of Soviet military intervention.

My first departure with Mr. Leitenberg comes when he elevates "the circumstances in which the Polish party leadership learned of the movements" to some kind of special moment in the negotiations. We still don't have enough Soviet evidence to draw Mr. Leitenberg's conclusions. This is particularly true when we consider his comment: "It seems very likely, even obvious, that Khrushchev gave the order for the movement of Soviet forces based in Poland in his meeting with Marshals Konev and Rokossowski in the Soviet embassy on October 19, also referred to in his memoirs." In this case, an omission on my part may have resulted in the confusion, and I am grateful to Mr. Leitenberg for bringing it to my attention.

In my attempt to edit out a number of long historiographical comments about the documents from the essay I submitted to the Bulletin, I deleted a remark about the reliability of Khrushchev's memoirs on the Polish crisis, which was originally included with Molotov's characterization of Rokossowski in the Felix Chuev interview (contained in One Hundred and Forty Conversations with Molotov) cited in endnote 28. I should have left in place the following observation:

This is another example of how Khrushchev's memoirs are accurate in so far as the general atmosphere of the discussions are concerned, and at the same time confusing because he again tends to take what were obviously a series of discussions and compress them into one important conversation. Surely, as Document 1 clearly 1 clearly shows, Rokossowski could not have gone with Khrushchev to the Soviet embassy on 19 October [1956], although Khrushchev's emphasis on Rokossowski as a main source of information for what was happening in Poland at the time tells us a lot about what everyone in Poland took for public knowledge: Rokossowski was Moscow's man in Warsaw. The Polish Minister of Defense was at the Politburo meeting, held immediately after First Secretary Ochab

put the 8th Plenum on hold, to further discuss the Polish position towards Khrushchev, while the Soviets went to their own embassy. Rokossowski attended all the meetings of the Polish Politburo during this tense period. The Stenographic report of the 8th Plenum also notes that Rokossowski attended all sittings of the 8th Plenum from 19-21 October 1956. It would be difficult to imagine Rokossowski not attending meetings of the only legal bodies that could force him from the leadership. Khrushchev probably decided to let the Poles begin the 8th Plenum for a number of reasons, including the necessity of providing Gomulka with the legal status he needed to negotiate on behalf of the Polish side at the Belvedere talks. More important, Rokossowski was a full member of the PUWP Politburo and Central Committee. Gomulka had to treat Rokossowski as part of the Polish negotiation team, at least officially, and no one on either side would have suggested, at least in public, otherwise.

Military aspects of the 1956 crisis, with which I have been grappling since 1986, have been among the most difficult issues to date to discuss with any degree of confidence. Documentary evidence, until recently, has been limited, while humanist sociology, brushed with rumors, hearsay, and unsubstantiated gossip, grows with every memoir. With some exceptions, the latter part of the little story from the long Belvedere meeting recited to Mr. Leitenberg by his Polish source has a ring of truth. I can imagine, during the most heated moments, Khrushchev and Gomulka exchanging veiled threats, using language that spawned images of heroic Polish resistance and Soviet military glory. Khrushchev and Gomulka were not the quiet diplomatic types. But it would be a leap to suggest that "one of the most crucial aspects" determining the "ultimate outcome of the confrontation" was the "circumstances in which the Polish party leadership learned of the [Soviet military] movements," at least with the limited selection of documents I included in my essay.

However, I will let Mr. Leitenberg and

I

the readers of the Bulletin decide for themselves the merits of my case when I present it in full, in a second documentary essay have begun to put together, this time with Edward Nalepa of the Military Historical Institute in Warsaw, before I was made aware of Mr. Leitenberg's letter, for an upcoming issue of the Bulletin. Our documents include a series of reports prepared by Polish military counter-espionage (Informacja) officers throughout the period of the crisis.

In my first essay I wanted to focus on the political aspects of the crisis, particularly the bottom line positions staked out by the two key personalities in this struggle: Khrushchev and Gomulka. Reflecting the tendency at these high level meetings to focus on personalities, both sides argued over the symbolic significance of Marshal Rokossowski's continued presence in People's Poland. Almost all other outstanding issues that divided the Soviets and the Poles were left for further negotiations. I am currently preparing a list of the documents that cover this vast subject. The documents I selected for translation or cited in the footnotes of my first Bulletin essay make up the most up to date collection on the Polish version of what happened at the Belvedere Palace on 19-20 October 1956. The Czech document recording a 24 October 1956 meeting at the Kremlin, which outlines the Soviet version of events-a document introduced and translated by Mark Kramer and published in the same issue of the Bulletin (pp.1, 50-56)-helps to complete the documentary part of the whole puzzle, but more Soviet documents are still required to draw less tentative conclusions.

My thesis, not in dispute insofar as Mr. Leitenberg's letter is concerned, is that the Polish crisis of October 1956 ended in a political settlement. Khrushchev made the final compromise which ended the standoff: Rokossowski's future was left to the PUWP CC; and they later voted to oust him from the Politburo. Both sides compromised and claimed victory, although Gomulka came out of the stormy negotiations especially in a strong position. Khrushchev, on the other hand, managed, as I argue, "to put the Polish question to rest for almost 25 years." The Soviet compromise should not go unnoticed.

Indeed, all this was accomplished at a time of great international tension, ideological confusion, social unrest in the country

where the negotiations were taking place, and led by two leaders who still had to operate within some kind of collective leadership framework. Other than "active intervention," as Khrushchev called it, could the Soviet leader (or Gomulka for that matter) have guaranteed anything other than the threat of military intervention during the talks at the Belvedere Palace, without a prolonged and exhaustive period of face-toface negotiation? We already know, for example, that Khrushchev only knew what others had told him about Gomulka or the situation in Poland, and that he was already suspicious of half the Polish Politburo, whom he met in March 1956. In fact, Khrushchev positively despised Roman Zambrowski, the leading Gomulka supporter in the PUWP Politburo at the time. Mikoyan's warning to Gomulka that he would "be pulled to the top by the Jews and then again they will drop him" was directed at Zambrowski, who again became the target of Soviet scorn during informal Soviet-Polish meetings over the future of Soviet-Polish relations after October 1956.

With regard to the second assertion by Mr. Leitenberg; namely my refusal to discuss "the threatened response of Polish military units" to the Soviet troop movements, which "is not mentioned in the documents at all, or by the author," I will add this for the moment. The Soviet control of the Polish Army, acknowledged in the body of my essay, extensively discussed in my footnotes, and covered by Document 5 (Khrushchev's letter to Gomulka on 22 October 1956), as well as the Soviet threat to intervene militarily in the affairs of the Polish party, cannot be separated. If any communist in Poland at the time can make a claim to have threatened to go to battle against Soviet tanks and troops, who also marched with some Polish military units towards Warsaw, it was the commanders of the security troops under the command of the Polish interior ministry, and perhaps some individual Polish Army officers who turned to them. But all these matters need further clarification. Edward Nalepa and I will try to sort through the myth and draw some more appropriate conclusions in the essay we will present in a future Bulletin.

We will also try to put into context Mr. Leitenberg's presentation of the observations shared to him during a talk in 1980 with "a former Polish party and government

official who had before 1956 been close to the Polish First Secretary...Bierut." At this stage, I will only emphasize that this too is a problem. How Polish communists, sharply divided before October 1956, immediately after the crisis, appropriated and transformed the October events and then continued to reinvent the "Polish October" after each successive period of conflict during the Cold War, is worthy of note.

I take full responsibility for a number of misprints that appear in the published text. Mr. Leitenberg's final critical remark to me, "Gluchowski never comments on the [Soviet] proposal for union," is one of the most serious errors. Three separate letters with corrections were sent to the Bulletin, but it appears the last one did not make it into the final text. The sentence from which Mr. Leitenberg cites (p. 40), where Gomulka is outlining to the Polish Politburo Khrushchev's comments, should read as follows: "They are upset with us because the Politburo Commission proposed a new list of members to the Politburo without a number of comrades who are supporters of a PolishSoviet alliance [not union-sojuszu polskoradzieckiego]; namely, comrades Rokossowski, [Zenon] Nowak, Mazur, Jozwiak." The next two sentences should read: "I explained to them that we don't have such tendencies. We do not want to break the friendly relations [not alliance-zrywac przyjazni ze Zwiazkiem Radzieckim] with the Soviet Union."

Incidentally, Khrushchev's comment to Gomulka about Poland's leading supporters of a Soviet-Polish alliance is closely related to Khrushchev's previous comment, cited by Gomulka in Russian: "The treacherous activity of Comrade Ochab has become evident, this number won't pass here." It was not obvious to me when I prepared the first essay, although I now hope to make my case shortly elsewhere, but it appears that Khrushchev's anger, directed as it was towards Ochab, probably stemmed from Ochab's September 1956 meeting with the Chinese, as mentioned in Document 5, and subsequent negotiations between Warsaw and Beijing. Soviet-Chinese talks over Poland appear to have led Beijing to demand from Moscow a more collective approach to the way the Kremlin dealt with the Warsaw Treaty Organization states. In a telegram to Gomulka from the Polish ambassador to China, dated 27 October 1956, Stanislaw

Kiryluk wrote:

...at two in the morning I was invited to meet with the CPCh [Communist Party of China] leadership. Talks with Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai, Chen Yun lasted for three hours... [The Chinese leaders stated:] "Between 19-23 October a CPCh delegation... in Moscow convinced Khrushchev about the rightness of the political changes in Poland ... Matters of independent Polish activities cannot be questioned despite the reservations of the CPSU Politburo, which has become accustomed to methods and forms of behavior that must be eliminated from relations within the socialist camp." Mao used, in this context, the phrase "great power chauvinism." [See Archive of the Polish Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Collection of telegrams from Beijing in 1956, Telegram no. 17599, 27 October 1956]

It appears the Chinese may also need to be given some credit for the success of the "Polish October."

Centre for Russian and East European Studies. University of Toronto 25 November 1995

MORE ON THE 1956 HUNGARIAN CRISIS

23 October 1995

To the Editor:

The Spring 1995 issue of the Bulletin, as rich and as informative as ever, contains two stimulating articles by Professor Johanna Granville. Permit me to make a few comments on both.

In the first article "Imre Nagy, Hesitant Revolutionary"-Professor Granville correctly argues that Prime Minister Nagy, a lifelong Communist, hesitated to side with the revolutionaries during the early days of the 1956 Hungarian uprising (October 2327); that he created a new, reform-minded party leadership that was more congenial to his way of thinking only on October 28th; and that, finally, he embraced the revolution's main demands of neutrality and political pluralism on November 1st, after he realized that Moscow had deceived him.

Alas, this is not a new interpretation, nor do the documents that follow Professor Granville's article provide important new evidence to confirm it. Hence your claim, not hers, made in the Table of Contents Box on p. 1-"Imre Nagy Reassessed"-is misleading. Ten years ago, and thus long before the archives opened, this is what I wrote in Hungary and the Soviet Bloc, 1986, pp. 12829 (all emphases in the original):

[I]t is one of the paradoxes of political life in Eastern Europe that, until the last days of this shortlived revolution, Nagy was the man Moscow counted on, and could count on, to save its cause in Hungary. Indeed, from the time of the first demonstration on October 23 to October 31, Nagy could only envisage a Hungarian future based on Soviet tutelage. With Soviet consent, he sought to make order by promising 'reforms,' assuming that the promise of such reforms would end the uprising.

Nagy's first turning point came on October 28 when he reached the conclusion that the party had to be changed, too. He had come to understand and the Kremlin con

curred that the time for reform had passed, and his all but impossible historic mission was to reconcile Soviet power-political interests with those of a new-somewhat independent and somewhat pluralistic-Hungarian political order. He consulted with Anastas Mikoyan and Mikhail A. Suslov, the two Politburo members who were in Budapest, and with Yuri V. Andropov, the Soviet ambassador to Hungary, to gain their approval for the transfer of the functions of the hapless Central Committee to a new, six-member party Presidium. So anxious was Nagy not to circumvent Moscow that he called the Kremlin from Andropov's office that morning to obtain confirmation of the authorization he had just received from the Soviet representatives in Budapest....

Only his second turning point, which came on November 1, signified a parting of the ways between Nagy and Moscow. Soviet troops having reentered Hungary the night before, Nagy realized that morning that the Kremlin was no longer interested in finding a political solution to the crisis under his leadership. He felt betrayed. In vain had he consulted with the Kremlin; in vain had he gained Soviet approval for every major measure he had adopted between October 23 and 31. The party was over. From the loyal Muscovite he had been all his life, this is when Nagy became a Hungarian revolutionary. On November 1, acting for the first time without Soviet concurrence, his government declared Hungary's withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact and the country's neutrality. On November 4, when its troops reached the Hungarian capital, the Soviet Union overthrew the Nagy government and crushed the revolution.

To the extent this was a "reassessment"

ten years ago, Professor Granville's article must be regarded as a "restatement" of that interpretation, albeit a useful one. I am not aware of a single scholarly book or article published anywhere in recent years that has claimed that Nagy was anything but “hesitant."

In her second article and in the documents from the archives of the KGB that are attached to it "Imre Nagy, aka "Volodya'A Dent in the Martyr's Halo?"-Professor Granville does offer a reassessment of Nagy's life in Moscow in the 1930s. While the documents make wild claims, Professor Granville prudently and correctly indicates some of the circumstances under which they were released in mid-1989. She puts it well: "The story of how these materials came to light is a story that has more to do with Soviet, Hungarian, and communist party politics amidst the revolutionary upheaval of the late 1980s and early 1990s than with historical or scholarly investigation" (p. 34). My purpose here is to add a few comments, including some new information on the role of a key player, about how and why the KGB released parts of its file on "Volodya."

On the basic issue at hand: Having read the four KGB documents published by Professor Granville (pp. 36-37), and having read fragments of others in 1991-92, I share Professor Granville's suspicion that Imre Nagy was almost certainly an informer for the NKVD, the KGB's predecessor, in the 1930s. Like most other Communist exiles, Nagy was also a Soviet citizen and a member of the Soviet Communist Party. He was attached to the Soviet-dominated Communist International.

However, the claims about the consequences of Nagy's reporting made by KGB Chief Vladimir Kryuchkov in his letter of transmittal to the Soviet Central Committe on 16 June 1989 (p. 36) are almost certainly not true. His suggestion that Nagy alone was responsible for the arrest, exile, or execution of dozens of high-ranking Communist exiles defies common sense. Nagy, after all, was hardly an important figure at that time; he did not even belong to the inner circle of Hungarian activists. He was a lonely man, writing on Hungarian agriculture in an obscure émigré journal no one read and com

menting on the Hungarian-language broadcasts of Radio Moscow no one heard, let alone listened to. As one of his Muscovite colleagues would observe many years later, even the leading émigrés "had nothing of consequence to do but they behaved as if they had. They practiced assiduously something they referred to as politics, plotted one another's downfall, and generally pranced and cantered and whinnied like superannuated parade horses at the knacker's gates." (Julius Hay, Born 1900: Memoirs [La Salle, Ill.: Library Press, 1975], pp. 218-19.) Given the atmosphere of suspicion prevailing in Moscow at the time, the Russian commissars did not trust information conveyed by foreign Communists.

Could Nagy, a nonentity among the nonentities, have been a petty mole, then? Yes. Could his reporting have contributed to the bloody purge of foreign, especially Hungarian, Communists in the 1930s? Yes. Could he have been directly responsible for the arrest of 25 Hungarian Communist émigrés, of whom 12 were executed and the rest sent to prison or exile? No. One: The Soviet authorities were always both suspicious of and contemptuous toward all foreign Communists; the NKVD surely did not rely on one such informant's reports. Two: As Kryuchkov put it, the 1989 release of the "Volodya File" to Károly Grósz, General Secretary of the Hungarian Socialist Workers Party (HSWP), was meant to be "expedient" and Grósz was to be advised "about their possible use" (p. 36). Three: Given the KGB's aptitude for falsifying documents, the authenticity of anything emerging from its archives must be carefully scrutinized.

A few hitherto unknown details will amplify the skepticism implicit in these reservations and supplement Professor Granville's able account of the political circumstances of 1989.

In 1988, KGB Chief Vladimir Kryuchkov flew to Budapest on a secret fact-finding mission. Long familiar with, and reportedly very fond of, Hungary, he stayed for several days. He met a few party leaders, the head of the political police, and at least one mole the police had planted in the country's increasingly vocal democratic opposition movement. Judging by the questions he asked and the people he met, he wanted to gain a first-hand impression of the bitter struggle that engulfed the HSWP leadership after the forced resignation of

János Kádár earlier that year and of the character, composition, and objectives of the democratic opposition. His visit confirmed what he must have known: that the critics both inside and outside the party were gaining new adherents by using Imre Nagy's execution in 1958 to discredit not only Kádár and his associates but to undermine the whole post-1956 Hungarian political order. As in 1955-56, Nagy-a man Kryuchkov knew while he was the Soviet Embassy's press attaché in Budapest-had once again become the flag for the gathering storm.

I do not know if it was Kryuchkov who then initiated the KGB's search for information on Nagy's past. Nor does it much matter. Both he and Grósz were anxious to discredit Nagy in order to deprive the Hungarian people-and the anti-Kádár, antiGrósz reformers in the HSWP-of a symbol of courage and sacrifice, of a reformer who broke ranks with Moscow. An astute Kremlinologist may also interpret their effort as an attempt to disparage Nagy in order to undermine Mikhail S. Gorbachev's reputation.

I do know, however, who went over to the headquarters of the KGB to authenticate Nagy's handwriting and pick up the newly found "Volodya File." Accompanied by Gyula Thürmer-Grósz's special assistant for Soviet affairs who, married to a Russian woman, spoke excellent Russian-and possibly by a "Third Man," also from Budapest, the Hungarian in charge of the transaction was Sándor Rajnai, the Hungarian Ambassador to Moscow. Unlike the young Thürmer and the "Third Man," Rajnai had long known Nagy and his handwriting very well indeed. For, in 1957-58, Lieutenant-Colonel Rajnai of the Hungarian political police was responsible for Nagy's arrest in and forced return from his involuntary exile in Romania; for Nagy's year-long interrogation in a Budapest jail where even his presence was top secret; and for the preparation of Nagy's equally secret trial whose scenario Rajnai had drafted. (Loyal, competent, sophisticated, and admired by his superiors and subordinates alike, this creative author of the last bloody Communist purge was subsequently richly rewarded for a job well done. After a long tenure as head of Hungarian foreign intelligence, he served as Ambassador to Romania and then the top prize-to the Soviet Union. In the 1980s he became a member of the HSWP Central Committee as well.)

By the time Rajnai "authenticated" Nagy's handwriting in July or early August of 1989, Nagy had received-on 16 June 1989-a ceremonial reburial at Budapest's Heroes Square in front of hundreds of thousands of people while millions watched the event live on Hungarian TV all day. Still, Rajnai clung to the hope that he could save the regime in which he believed and his own skin, too, by publicizing damaging information about Nagy-by portraying him as a false pretender, a deceiver who sold out his friends and comrades, a Stalinist stooge. Only in this way could Rajnai help the hardliners in the HSWP, notably Károly Grósz, to defeat such critics as Imre Pozsgay who used Nagy's name to gain political ground. Not incidentally, only in this way could Rajnai justify his own past and clarify the meaning of his life. He told me as much during the course of some 40 hours of conversation over several months in 1991 and '92.

As it happened, Rajnai forwarded the "Volodya File" to Grósz; it was translated from Russian into Hungarian by Mrs. Thürmer. Grósz presented a verbal summary, similar to Kryuchkov's, to the HSWP Central Committee on 1 September 1989. In his speech Grósz told the Central Committee of Nagy's direct responsibility for the arrest and sentencing of 25 leading Hungarian cadres in Moscow and the execution of 12 of them. But then Grósz declined to open the floor for discussion or answer any questions. The Central Committee resolved to send the "Volodya File" to the archives where it was shelved. Oddly enough, even Grósz seemed doubtful of Volodya's political value at this late date. "It is my conviction," he declared, "that what you have just heard will not be decisive when it comes to making the ultimate judgment about Imre Nagy's whole life." (The text of Grósz's speech was published on 15 June 1990-ten long months later in the hardline Szabadság, a smallcirculation Communist weekly edited by Gyula Thürmer.)

In the end, Rajnai's hope of saving the one-party Communist regime by publicizing the "Volodya File" was dashed, and his fear of being held accountable for the phony charges he had concocted against Nagy in 1957-58 turned out to be unwarranted. For, while the Hungarian Supreme Court in 1989 declared the trial of Imre Nagy and his associates null and void, it declined to charge

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