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A devastating, documented account of Lenin's and Stalin's reign of terror, the book was a reminder of how unfree Soviet society was, and still is. Moreover, as the Kremlin well knew, he had even more devastating revelations to make: five as yet unpublished sequels to Gulag deal with repression under Khrushchev and his successor Leonid Brezhnev. Soviet frustration was mixed with anger when the author declared that he would order all his banned work published abroad if he was arrested. Defying the regime to act against him, Solzhenitsyn answered a barrage of criticism in the Soviet press with ever more daring and pointed rebuttals.
By exiling Solzhenitsyn, the Kremlin ridded itself of a giant thorn. And yet, as TIME Correspondent John Shaw cabled from Moscow last week, "in the last analysis, the deportation was an act of weakness and desperation—an admission that the Soviet system holds no answer in law or fact or argument to meet Solzhenitsyn's challenge. Unable to answer his charges, incompetent to silence him, afraid to imprison him and incapable of tolerating his opinions, the Soviet state had no other option but to declare him a non-person."
Solzhenitsyn's deportation climaxed a harrowing suspense drama that had riveted international attention for five days. It began with an ominous summons from the Soviet state prosecutor's office, which ordered the writer to meet with investigators. Solzhenitsyn's wife Natalya rejected the order. In response to a second, more peremptory summons, Solzhenitsyn released a defiant written statement of refusal. "Given the widespread and unrestrained lawlessness that has reigned in our country for many years, and an eight-year campaign of slander and persecution against me, I refuse to recognize the legality of your summons. Before asking that citizens obey the law, learn how to observe it yourselves. Free the innocent, and punish those guilty of mass murder."
Friends, who feared that Solzhenitsyn would be arrested and imprisoned, were struck by his composure. After refusing the second summons, he went back to his desk in his narrow, 6-ft. by 18-ft. study. Solzhenitsyn often worked here twelve hours a day. That kind of dedication made possible his prodigious production in two decades of novels, plays, short stories—not to mention the massive Gulag. Six weeks ago, when the official drive against Gulag began, he had vowed, "They will not make me lose a single day of work."
Cruel Mockery. The day of his arrest began as a normal, busy family day. While Solzhenitsyn worked, his mother-in-law looked after his five-month-old son Stepan; his two older boys, Yermolai, 3, and Ignat, 16 months, played in the park near by. As dusk fell, seven policemen entered the building and hurried up the stone steps to Apartment 169. Solzhenitsyn's wife was told that the men wanted to talk to her husband. Their leader announced that he had the authority to take Solzhenitsyn with him —by force, if necessary. "There were seven of them," Natalya said later.