The Workshop Of The Revolution. I. N. Steinberg 1953
Civil war was raging in the Ukraine. The struggle had not as yet reached the major proportions it was to assume in 1919 and 1920, when the counter-revolution daubed the Ukrainian earth with Jewish blood; but even now, toward the end of 1917, the Soviet Government in Petrograd was waging a bitter war against the bourgeois elements in the Ukraine. The Central Rada (Rada is Ukrainian for “parliament”) functioned in Kiev under the Ukrainian national leaders Petliura and Vinitchenko, representing the country’s most nationalistic elements. They were planning to issue a call to national war against “the Russians.” But “the Russians” were already involved in battle with the Cossacks of the Don, Kuban and the Urals as well as with bourgeois elements in southern Russia.
To counter the activities of the nationalists, a Ukrainian Soviet had been organized in the city of Kharkov, and there, too, in December, 1917, partisan troops under the command of Antonov were being assembled. Antonov was an old Bolshevik who had participated in the October rising. He had been the man to place the Kerensky Cabinet under arrest in the Winter Palace at Petrograd, and he was now enjoying to the utmost his new role of Field Marshal. In matters of war he was true to the usual Bolshevik tactics: strike terror into the hearts of opponents and win the lukewarm with demagoguery. His heroic feats were becoming notorious. At the end of December, 1917, the newspapers carried the following story:
“Antonov had ordered the arrest of the entire Kharkov council of coal mine owners, headed by Mr. Ditmar. The charge was sabotage. They were to be sentenced to ten years’ hard labor in the Donetz coal mines. The millionaires were promptly seized and locked up in a railroad car.”
That was not all. On December 30, 1917, the Government newspaper Izvestya published a telegram from Lenin to Antonov:
“Heartily commend your energetic actions in the relentless fight against the Cossacks. Agree with your unyielding attitude toward the Kharkov compromisers who have, it seems, misled even some Bolsheviks. Particularly hail the arrest of the sabotaging millionaires and advise they be sent for six months to forced labor in the mines at once. Again congratulate you on your resoluteness and censure the waverers. Lenin”
That was too much for us of the Left Social-Revolutionary Party. We knew how such actions would end, and we had discussed the question thoroughly in the Central Committee of our party, this being our customary procedure concerning important issues. In this way our representatives in the Government could make a united stand at the sessions of the Council of Commissars. All but one in our Central Committee had roundly condemned both Antonov’s and Lenin’s acts.
We were indignant on several grounds. The whole situation in the Ukraine was complicated. The Soviets were forced to wage a social civil war on her soil while the “National Government” in Kiev was venting its rage on them. Every false step of the Soviet Government established in Russia proper-which Government had only weak support in the Kharkov region- would be used against it by the Kiev leaders who were seeking a national, rather than a social revolution. In such circumstances it behooved the Soviets to respect the feelings of the Ukrainian people and particularly of the Kharkov Soviet authorities who stood against the Kiev Government.
And what did Antonov do, drugged as he was with military power? Wantonly he attacked the Kiev regime and bullied the Kharkov Soviet, with the result that we in Moscow were flooded with complaints and justified protests from Kharkov. Instead of liberating the people from social oppression, he made it appear as if the October Revolution was engaged in a struggle with the Ukrainian nation. And here was Lenin, writing the friendliest message to Antonov, congratulating him three times in a few lines, urging him to further shows of “heroism.” No great imagination was required to foresee Antonov’s continued progress.
The terroristic trend of the whole Kharkov affair angered the Left Social-Revolutionaries even more, since these mine owners were, in fact, being condemned to hard labor without trial. And, of course, neither Antonov nor Lenin expected the hard labor of these men to increase coal production. Antonov and Lenin topped their game by leaving the mine owners’ locked railroad car on tracks set between the warring factions of a civil war. They might as well have turned them over to a lynching mob. Moreover, had Lenin sent his telegram privately, or as a party communication between comrades, it would have been only half the outrage. (Our party had come to know the brazen style of the Bolsheviks.) But he had had the message printed in Izvestya, official Government newspaper. It was to be viewed, then, as a pronouncement of the Government of which the Left Social-Revolutionaries were still a part.
We agreed to lodge a protest at the Council. Only one member of our Central Committee was skeptical of our plans. Prosh Proshyan agreed that we must, of necessity, reject the imposition of hard labor just for political effect. But would the Ukrainian workingmen understand our protest? Were those arrested men not bourgeois and had they not pitilessly exploited the miners for decades?
So argued Proshyan. Our contention was that, precisely because they were capitalists, we had to take their side. If we did not, now and always, terror would stalk the land. Seated in the Government, we could not condone terror. The Central Committee of our party decided the issue by vote, with Proshyan abstaining. But once made, the decision was binding on our Commissars in the Council and, therefore, also on Proshyan.
The personality of Prosh Proshyan deserves to be recalled here. He was still a young man at the time of the Revolution of 1917 -a man broken in health but possessed of great powers of concentration and a relentless will. He died at the beginning of 1919, and only then did we discover that all his life he had been a martyr.
Proshyan was first arrested as a Social-Revolutionary in 1905, following a daring attempt to blow up the prison in Odessa and to free the political prisoners held there. He was sentenced to six years of hard labor (Katorga) in Siberia. The young, spirited student, sparkling with enthusiasm, wit and the melodious songs of his native Caucasus, became very popular with his fellow captives. But behind the gay exterior was the impressive figure of a fighter. When, in 1907, prison authorities decided to move thirty-five political prisoners-soldiers and sailors-to the crueller Siberian camp of Zerentuy, Proshyan volunteered to accompany them so that, as the only intellectual in the group, he might act as their teacher.
In heavy chains and on foot, the men made the long trek, with the ever-jolly, singing revolutionary at their side. When an attempt was made at the prison to maltreat the few women held for political offenses, Proshyan and several other men decided to register their protest by committing suicide en masse. His comrades dissuaded him only with great difficulty. After six years at hard labor, Proshyan was transferred to so-called “free exile,” and he managed to escape from Siberia.
Immediately he plunged into party work. He was arrested a second time and again sentenced to Katorga. This time he was incarcerated in the Yaroslav prison where convicts were subjected to hunger, cold, solitary confinement and enforced silence. He refused to submit to the regulations and was sentenced to flogging. Taken to the physician who was to determine how many strokes the prisoner could endure, Proshyan demanded that the doctor merely state whether or not there was to be any corporal punishment and not bother with the number of blows. There was something in Proshyan’s voice, in his fiery eyes, that moved the examiner to declare Proshyan too weak for flogging. Thereupon he was locked up in a dark cell for three months to commune with the deadly silence and the painful beating of his heart. A nail with which he attempted to pierce his skull was taken from him.
In 1913, he was finally exiled to Siberia and again escaped abroad, where he carried on passionate propaganda against the war. When the revolution broke out, he returned to European Russia and soon became a bitter critic of the Kerensky regime. His party’s work placed him among the sailors in Finland. In the July days of 1917, when the Bolsheviks went into action for the first time, Proshyan was arrested as a Left Social- Revolutionary by the Kerensky regime. And when, during the stormy days on the eve of October, he was released, he made only a single comment on his latest prison term, and his voice trembled slightly:
“We, who have been Katorga prisoners, should never be confined in jail again!”
He was then only thirty-three years old. At the outbreak of the October Revolution he insisted that the Left Social-Revolutionaries work with the Bolsheviks. He became one of our People’s Commissars (for Post and Telegraph) and threw himself into the constructive work of the Soviets with all the zeal of his tormented life. When the Germans opened their new offensive against Russia in February, 1918, Proshyan, together with Lenin, formed the Emergency Council which conducted and co-ordinated the activities of state during that critical period.
In his shabby work jacket, always confident and in high spirits, he rushed about the city, from Government offices to party headquarters, from his Commissariat to meetings, from meetings to his old soul mates of the Siberian Katorga-Spiridonova, Kakhovskaya and Ismailovitch.
And when the Bolsheviks surrendered to the German imperialists by signing the Brest-Litovsk peace treaty, he became their adversary as intensely as he had been their friend, seeing them thenceforth as the betrayers of the international revolution. The German Ambassador, Count Mirbach, was assassinated in July, 1918, and the Bolsheviks sentenced Proshyan-in absentia-to three years at hard labor. The old story was to begin over again!
But Proshyan had already gone underground, attempting, despite the ever-growing terror, to forge once more a “Left Revolutionary Party which would not capitulate to opportunistic state policies.” He wrote to Spiridonova:
“Marussya, the revolution still lives in the hearts of the workers. Despite hunger, cold and a deep anger, they understand what is happening and are devoted to the ideal of the Soviets. How much I love our working people. How much strength they give me!”
Then came the terribly cold winter of 1919. Proshyan had in his possession considerable party funds, but he would not buy a warm overcoat or boots for himself. In lightweight clothes he traveled about Moscow’s outlying workers’ districts. Overcome by the frost he fell critically ill. He, the recent People’s Commissar, with the machinery of the state at his command, had submerged into the depths of the masses. We found him fighting death in a Moscow ward where he was registered under an assumed name. In his delirium he sang revolutionary songs-and died.
Proshyan embodied the dramatic three-fold struggle of the Russian revolutionist: against czarism, against a liberal bourgeois regime, and against bolshevism. All three-Czar, Kerensky, Lenin-had held him in their prisons. No doubt he found the persecution at the hands of erstwhile revolutionists hardest to endure.
On the day in January, 1919, when we buried him in Moscow, Pravda published a eulogy written by Lenin, who acknowledged with admiration Proshyan’s revolutionary record and added that he had been “almost a Bolshevik.” Proshyan would have resented this doubtful commendation. To the end his character, revolutionary and humane, had remained unchanged.
But much of Proshyan’s story was still in the future.
We had just decided to raise the question of Antonov and his repressions in the Ukraine at the next session of the Government; and we designated our “diplomatic” comrade, Karelin, who knew how to present delicate issues in calm and winning ways, to speak for us. Karelin pointed out, at the very beginning, that the Left Social-Revolutionaries were “surprised” at the telegram, which Lenin had sent to Antonov.
Lenin pricked up his ears when he noticed his personal actions were being questioned. A crafty look came into his eyes as Karelin continued to discuss the complexity of the situation in the Ukraine. And Karelin was in a position to know because, until recently, he had been president of the Kharkov Council; and he drew attention to the Kharkov Soviet’s resentment of Antonov’s military impudence.
“It is not permissible,” Karelin said, “for an individual to usurp the power of sentencing people to compulsory hard labor. And the situation becomes even more acute when the head of the Government, Comrade Lenin, sends Antonov a wire of approval and has it printed in the official organ. This will be interpreted as an expression of Government policy, although we were not even apprised of it. We are being saddled with a responsibility which we have not accepted.”
At first Lenin tried to wriggle out of the issue with a formal explanation. He could not see, he said, why the matter was being discussed at the Council of People’s Commissars. It was his private correspondence with one of his party comrades. Surely he could express his views on any subject without consulting the wishes of the coalition Soviet Government. Antonov had written to him personally and he had replied to Antonov personally . . .
“No, that is not so,” I broke in. “Private letters are not published in Izvestya. You would not print your laundry bills in the Government organ, would you? There could have been only one reason for the publication of the telegram: to incite both Antonov and the masses to further outrages.
“Above all it is intolerable that any of us should develop royal habits and deliver our personal opinions in the form of commands. True, the telegram was not signed ‘President of the Council of People’s Commissars'; but your name carries that well- known implication.”
The atmosphere was becoming strained. The Bolsheviks realized that we were in earnest, and they saw that, while Karelin and I led the attack, the other Left Social-Revolutionaries were with us. At this point, Lenin apparently decided to break our unity and drive a wedge between the younger Commissars, whom he judged to be under “democratic,” i.e. bourgeois, pressures and the older Left Social-Revolutionary Commissars among us, who were more tenaciously devoted to the class “principles.” So he dropped the formal argument and tackled the issue.
“How can you condemn the methods used by Antonov against the big capitalists who are backing the Cossacks? How would this debate look to the workers, were they allowed to witness it? We dare not criticize Antonov; indeed, we must send him encouragement and moral support at a time when he is surrounded by counter-revolutionaries and weaklings.”
At that Proshyan plunged into the fight. I looked at him first in amazement and then with increasing admiration. The rather indifferent attitude he had assumed that morning in our Central Committee had vanished, and he was now greatly disturbed and spoke passionately. Lenin had injected a defense of terror against the capitalists into the debate, hoping thereby to win over Proshyan, the radical revolutionist and bitter foe of the bourgeoisie.
Earlier in the day Proshyan had expressed doubts over “what the workers might think.” Now he realized the perils of Lenin’s private telegram. He, who had every right to harbor thoughts of revenge, came to the defense of the coal magnates. He called Antonov’s punishment Katorga; and hard labor, he argued, must not be imposed on anyone.
“Let us fight a civil war,” he said, “but let it be a mass movement unsullied by atrocities committed by generals and demagogues in the name of the working people.”
Even the Bolsheviks listened attentively because this was one man they could not suspect of “softness” toward the bourgeoisie. When Proshyan talked about Katorga he knew whereof he was speaking.
By now Lenin was really furious. He had not expected Proshyan to “betray” him on this issue. Moreover he had, for the first time, been taken to task personally. In the past we had criticized others, Dzershinsky, for example, as head of the Cheka, but Lenin himself only by implication. The tone was different now. The debate continued and other Bolsheviks spoke.
The time came for practical suggestions. We demanded that the Ukrainian situation be investigated thoroughly and recommended the eventual recall of Antonov. And we asked that, in the meantime, Lenin’s telegram be in some way “rescinded.”
As usual, Lenin had been scribbling and making notes throughout the debate. At last he, too, introduced a resolution, to the effect that the Council of People’s Commissars was in accord with the tactics of Antonov and requested him to “continue on the same course.” Lenin read his resolution and smiled mockingly in our direction. Having noted our united stand, he had determined not to yield an inch and had formulated his own uncompromising opinion in the sharpest possible form. It was obviously meant as an insult to us. Proshyan changed color, but said nothing. Lenin put his resolution to a vote and it was carried by the voices of the Bolsheviks.
Proshyan rose slowly and said in an irritated and hoarse voice, “I request that my reasons for opposing the resolution be inserted in the minutes, and the minutes be published in the press.” He sat down. Naturally, Karelin, Kalegaiev, Brilliantov, Trutovsky and I (the Left Social-Revolutionary Commissars) supported him.
Lenin frowned and sat silent for a moment. This was open rebellion! He did not wish to make our conflicts public property. The proceedings of the Council of People’s Commissars had never, so far, been published. He promptly found a solution:
“Well, let’s reconsider this matter and have another vote on it-but not today, some other session ... In the meantime we shall merely file both resolutions, yours and ours, with the other documents.”
The session adjourned a little later. The two questions had been left unsettled: the terror and constitutional privileges of Lenin. And although the public was not aware of it at the time, we had applied a strong, though temporary, brake to the course of the Bolsheviks, who realized that they were being watched.
Not until several years later did I learn that within a few days of that session, on January 21, 1918, Lenin felt obliged to write Antonov a very different kind of letter. He wrote, in part:
“For God’s sake, do everything you can to end the squabbles with the Kharkov Soviet. This is absolutely essential from the viewpoint of political wisdom. For heaven’s sake, make peace with them and recognize their supremacy!”
But there was one other fact that emerged at that session-the ethical purity of Proshyan’s personality. He had endured inhuman torture in the Katorga of the old regime. And he had come away with only one desire-to do away with it for ever and for all men.