The Hidden War
A Russian Journalist's Account of the Soviet War in Afghanistan

Artyom Borovik

New York: Grove Press, 1990. Pages: 288

Review © 2001 Branislav L. Slantchev

Let me begin, uncharacteristically enough, by saying that this book is great and everyone should read it. Whether the author was killed by the powers-that-be for his troubles in trying to ensure the freedom of the media in the newly-free Russia, or whether this speculation just adds the finishing touch to Borovik's already impressive aura both in Russia and abroad, the author's claim to fame could easily be based entirely on The Hidden War.

This book is not a military, political, economic, or even social analysis of the Soviet debacle in Afghanistan. Although the book opens with a "who was responsible" prelude, it really is an account of how the Afghan experience changed the Soviets. It is not about the Afghani rebels bringing down a world empire (which they did not do), neither it is about the horrors of war (of which there are some). It is, rather, a moving and deeply intimate poem about the subjective experiences of Soviet soldiers and officers who had found themselves in the midst of conflict they did not understand, fulfilling an "international duty" to liberate people who, strangely, preferred dying to being freed. This is a story with no villains (although the sadistic Antonenko shooting civilians in a blind rage claiming to be avenging the death of a Soviet officer comes very close), but it is full of heroes, albeit of unconventional variety.

The book is divided in two parts, the first written when Borovik was 27, on his first visit to Afghanistan, and the second written during the Soviet withdrawal in 1988. The two parts contrast sharply in the mood of the presentation. While one can detect a hint of optimism in the first; a hope that despite the personal tragedies, the sacrifices might turn out to be for a good cause, the second book is the pit of gloom and despair. In the first, there is a feeling that the Soviet troops are there for a good cause (in fact, at several places the point is made that if they withdraw, Afghanistan will degenerate into internecine warfare, which is exactly what happened). The second part, however, is the stronger in showing how the unending fighting transformed an entire generation of young Russians into a "lost one," despised by the people (who can't distinguish between soldiers doing their duty and those responsible for sending them there), whose personal stories are a never-ending string of tragedies, and who find it in themselves to retain glimpses of humanity in their own poetic interpretations.

The book, which reads more like literature and less like reporting, is surprisingly lyrical, with much attention paid to subjective accounts and very little to descriptions of battles. This is what makes it strong, along with memorable characters like Ushakov, whose personal integrity lands him in trouble with superiors repeatedly, or even unnamed soldiers who sip hot tea and muse on their lives and lot.

This book is not some sappy melodrama and it is not some naive anti-war protest. It is a sober realization that war changes the one who fights it in unforeseen ways. It is not difficult to see why this book generated as much controversy as it did in Russia but still one cannot help but feel that the point was not to criticize the Soviet involvement so much as to understand its effect.

October 29, 2001

---

@book{borovik-90,
    title     = {The Hidden War},
    author    = {Artyom Borovik},
    year      = 1990,
    publisher = {Grove Press},
    address   = {New York},
    isbn      = {0-8021-3775-X (pbk.)},
    note      = {Pp. 288}
}