From the perspective of the secret police, concealing a diary was a crime regardless of its content. It was an attempt to separate a citizen’s public and private life, when no such gap existed. There was no thought or experience that fell outside e party’s authority. For this reason a concealed diary was often the most incriminating evidence an agent could hope for. Since the journal wasn’t intended for any reader the author wrote freely, lowering their guard, producing nothing less than an unsolicited confession. From-the-heart honesty made the document suitable for judging not only the author but also their friends and family. A diary could yield as many as fifteen additional suspects, fifteen new leads, often more than the most intense interrogation.

In charge of this investigation was Agent Leo Demidov, twenty-seven years old: a decorated soldier recruited to the ranks of the secret police after the Great Patriotic War. He’d flourished in the MGB through a combination of uncomplicated obedience, a belief in the State he was serving and rigorous attention to detail. His zeal was underpinned not by ambition but by earnest adoration of his homeland, the country that had defeated Fascism. As handsome as he was serious-minded, he had the face and the spirit of a propaganda poster, a square jaw with angular lips, ever ready with a slogan.

In Leo’s brief career with the MGB, he’d overseen the examination of many hundreds of journals, pored over thousands of entries in the tireless pursuit of those accused of anti-Soviet agitation. Like a first love, he remembered the first journal he’d ever examined. Given to him by his mentor, Nikolai Borisov, it had been a difficult case. Leo had found nothing incriminating among the pages. His mentor had then read the same journal, highlighting an apparently innocent observation:

December 6th, 1936, Last night Stalin’s new constitution was adopted. I feel the same way as the rest of the country, i.e., absolute, infinite delight.

Borisov had been unsatisfied that the sentence conveyed a credible sense of delight. The author was more interested in aligning his feelings with the rest of the country. It was strategic and cynical, an empty declaration intended to hide the author’s own doubts. Does a person expressing genuine delight use an abbreviation – i.e. – before describing their emotions? That question was put to the suspect in his subsequent interrogation.

INTERROGATOR BORISOV: How do you feel right now?

SUSPECT: I have done nothing wrong.

INTERROGATOR BORISOV: But my question was: how do you feel?

SUSPECT: I feel apprehensive.

INTERROGATOR BORISOV: Of course you do. That is perfectly natural.

But note that you did not say: “I feel the same as anyone would in my circumstances, i.e., apprehension.”