HOW THE COLD WAR WAS FOUGHT ON THE CHESSBOARD
By Daniel Johnson
Houghton Mifflin, $26, 416 pages
REVIEWED BY DOUG BANDOW
Thought to have originated in India in the sixth century A.D., the beautiful game of chess finally has returned home. The current world champion is Viswanathan Anand of India.
He is only the third non-Soviet (or Russian post-Soviet break-up) since 1948 to hold a world chess title. Journalist Daniel Johnson explains, “it is impossible to write the history of chess during the Cold War period without contrasting the rival political, economic, and social systems. Only a book that got to the heart of the matter, to what made the evil empire evil, could give the Cold War chess grandmasters their context.”
Chess probably entered Russia during the early-16th century. Several czars and czarinas played the game, as did a number of Soviet revolutionaries, including Leon Trotsky and Vladimir Lenin. Notes Mr. Johnson, “Chess has always exerted a peculiar magnetism for megalomaniacs, from Napoleon to Castro.”
However, support for chess became a matter of politics. Nikolai Vasilyevich Krylenko was, reports Mr. Johnson, one of the few Bolsheviks “who had the sacred privilege of playing chess with Lenin.” In the mid-1920s, Krylenko established centralized control over the game and, in Mr. Johnson’s words, drafted a “five year plan for chess,” mobilizing the game “as part of the increasingly totalitarian direction of society.” As Commissar of Justice, Krylenko helped prosecute Stalin’s campaign of terror, which consumed many in the chess world. Krylenko himself was arrested in 1937 and executed the following year.
Russian Alexander Alekhine actually won the title in 1927. But he played for France and remained in Nazi-occupied Europe during World War II. Only after he died in 1946 did Moscow truly claim the chess crown as its own when Mikhail Botvinnik won the tournament to select Alekhine’s successor. With success came privilege - and danger. Explains Johnson:
“Botvinnik was treated as a favored son, though that favor was strictly conditional on his continuing success against Western grandmasters. The minister of heavy industry, Grigory Ordzhonikadze, rewarded him with a car. Apart from the vehicles assigned to the nomenklatura, Botvinnik’s may well have been the only private car in the Soviet Union. A year later, Ordzhonikadze vanished into the vortex of the Terror. Botvinnik was fortunate not to join him.”
Government control brought resources. Writes Mr. Johnson, “the practical basis of the Soviet school of chess was its colossal infrastructure. From 150,000 registered players in 1929, the numbers grew to half a million in the mid-1930s. By the 1950s they had reached 1 million and would eventually peak at 5 million.” Those who won received bountiful wages and unusual travel opportunities, which “conferred almost unimaginable privilege.”
Ultimately, the Soviets became victims of “the rumbustious individualism of the American way of life,” notes Mr. Johnson. Bobby Fischer was brilliant but erratic, in contrast to the dull but disciplined Soviet machine. By the mid-1960s, Botvinnik had been dethroned, ultimately replaced by Boris Spassky, a relative nonconformist among the Soviet players. He proved to be the unlucky victim when Fischer’s will to win overcame the latter’s mercurial temperament.
While watching chess has been derided as akin to watching grass grow, the process leading to Fischer’s victory provided world-class entertainment, ably described in “White King and Red Queen.” Mr. Johnson pays particular attention to the tumultuous impact of Fischer’s triumph on the Soviet chess machine. After Fischer won the first “candidate’s” match, blanking Soviet grandmaster Mark Taimanov by the shocking score of six-zip, Taimanov found himself in disgrace.
Fischer then took out the Dane Bent Larsen by the same score and in the penultimate match crunched former Soviet world champion Tigran Petrosian by the astonishing margin of four points. Yet Fischer’s bizarre antics almost sank the championship match against Boris Spassky. National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger even called Fischer, urging him to show up in Reykjavik for the match.
Once both players sat down at the chessboard, the result seemed inevitable. With Fischer taking a strong lead, writes Mr. Johnson, “the real battle again shifted away from the board. It was plain to all that only a miracle could stop Fischer now. Being good communists, the Soviet team did not believe in miracles; they believed in conspiracies instead. The fear of what might await them back in Moscow fueled the atmosphere of paranoia that had pervaded the Spassky camp.” At one point, the Icelandic authorities x-rayed Fischer’s chair and disassembled a lamp to check for listening devices.