Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Ak-47

 Several different interests and threads in my life came together as I set out: my experience as an infantry officer in the Marines, where I studied military history and tactics while I commanded an infantry platoon and a company; my years covering terror and conflict for The New York Times; my assignment to Moscow as a newspaper correspondent. But the real spark flashed after David Rohde (of the Times) and I found reams of Al Qaeda and Taliban records in Afghanistan in late 2001. We brought the materials back to New York, and as we grasped what they said, we realized from the training notebooks that students at Afghan insurgent and terrors schools were all receiving the same opening class as they began their courses—an introduction to the Kalashnikov rifle. These weapons were everywhere and having palpable effects on security, stability and how wars were fought, and they were endlessly assuming surprising new meanings. We wrote a little bit about this, and a former professor of mine contacted me and said, "You know, you really ought to look into this more deeply, and consider a book." That was almost a decade ago. I went to work. 







After the weapon was fielded, the Soviet Union invested heavily in an official version of its creation. This was not long after the purges, when many prominent Soviet citizens and public figures had been liquidated. A new crop of heroes was being put forward by the Kremlin and the Communist Party. Mikhail Kalashnikov fit this movement perfectly—he was, by the official telling, the quintessential proletariat success story, a wounded vet with limited education and almost no training who conceived of this weapon and relentlessly conjured it into existence. The truth was more complicated. But this party-approved version was endlessly repeated in official channels, and one result of the propaganda was that many other participants in the weapon's design were sidelined and kept silent. One important figure was even arrested, charged with anti-revolutionary activity and sentenced to hard labor. After the Soviet Union collapsed, some of these other men and their accounts began to circulate. But the archives have never fully been opened, and the myths have hardened into something that can feel like fact. We do know much more than we used to, but the full story, in crisp detail, remains elusive, and the Communist version still stands in many circles. Propaganda is a pernicious thing, and the Kalashnikov tale is an example of just how effective it can be.

The two weapons were designed simultaneously, and urgently, in Stalin's Soviet Union, and they worked together quite well. Atomic (then nuclear) weapons served to freeze borders in place and prevent total war, while the Kalashnikov percolated from state to state, army to army, group to group and man to man and became the principal firearm used for modern war and political violence, in all of its many forms. The West fixated, understandably and naturally, on nuclear weapons and their risks and developed an enormous intellectual, diplomatic and material infrastructure to deal with them and work against their proliferation. Meanwhile, the Kalashnikov—and many arms that complement it in the field—were doing the killing and still are. I sometimes ask people, when we talk about the big-ticket weapons as opposed to the weapons that actually see the real use: How many people have you known, or even heard of, who were killed by a submarine? How many by a nuclear bomb? The Kalashnikov, in actual practice over the past 60-plus years, has proven much more deadly than these things. But it gets a lot less official attention. 


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