https://www.frontpagemag.com/fpm/2019/11/remembering-vladimir-bukovsky-michael-ledeen/
Vladimir Bukovsky, one of the greatest dissidents in the history of the Twentieth Century, has died in England at the age of 76. For those of us who knew him, and were fortunate enough to work with him, his passing marked a profoundly sad day.
For years, Bukovsky was a constant advocate for imprisoned anti-Communists, locked up because of their alleged mental infirmities. He smuggled their court documents to the West, along with documents purporting to show his own mental derangement. Instead of charging him with anti-Communism or crimes against the state, he was “diagnosed” with mental illness and placed in a psychiatric institution.
Bukovsky was swapped for Chilean Communist Party Chief Luis Corvalan in 1976, and he resumed his studies at Stanford University, where the school administration played a nasty trick on him. A group of Soviet scholars was touring the West, advocating, as usual, for peace. Bukovsky recognized some of the better-known scholars from his years in Soviet jails; they had been among his torturers. He made this point to those who had invited the Soviets to Palo Alto, and urged them to call off the visit, but they were not put off from their peace mission.
Shortly thereafter, Bukovsky left the United States. It was a turning point in his meanderings. Although he was very fond of President Ronald Reagan and CIA Director William Casey, he found himself at odds with a culture that was hostile to his own deep-seated anti-Communism. Luke Harding writes in The Guardian:
His autobiography, published in English in 1978 as To Build a Castle and in Russian under the title And the Wind Returns, gives a vivid portrait of life in Soviet jail. He wrote: “Strange things happened to time. On the one hand it seemed to pass with preternatural speed, beggaring belief. The entire daily routine with its ordinary, monotonously repetitive events – reveille, breakfast, exercise, dinner, supper, lights out, reveille, breakfast – fused into a sort of yellowish-brown blur, leaving nothing for the mind to cling to.
“On the other hand the same time could crawl with agonising slowness: it would seem as if a whole year had gone by, but no, it was still the same old month, and no end was in sight.”