The Workshop Of The Revolution. I. N. Steinberg 1953
Those were turbulent days in the revolutionary Russia of 1918: in the capital, Petrograd, where the internal political struggle was moving to a climax, and in the border citadel, Brest-Litovsk, where representatives of the new Russia and the old Imperial Germany were locked in peace negotiations. And while all these dramatic events were taking place on the political plane, a process of regeneration-social and spiritual-pressed on among the people.
This process of regeneration followed no unified plan that would have embraced the millions of people, the dozens of nations and hundreds of provinces. To outside observers it may have looked like some colossal pandemonium, but there was creativity within the seeming chaos. In the basic units of the country, in the villages, the people began the realization of their great social dream, the distribution of land according to justice and the “law of God.” This event will be described in greater detail in a separate chapter (“Russia’s Peasants”). In the cities, too, there were traces of true popular creativity in diverse spheres.
One unpleasant fact must be recalled here. In the first months after October, 1917, large sections of officialdom and the professional intelligentsia sabotaged the new Government. Under the influence of the embittered moderates (to say nothing of the open reactionaries), they sacrificed the interests of country and people to their hatred of the new regime. They stayed away from their offices or refused to carry out their functions in public institutions. In this manner they intended to starve the most important agencies of state, city and society in general, so that the masses who had “snatched” power might realize their incompetence and submit once more to men of experience and knowledge. There was a short period at the beginning of the October era when the highest organs of the state, such as the ministries, were without technical experts, officials or secretarial staffs.
But even this sabotage proved to be the starting point for a new, unexpected development in the revolution. Wherever the old expert workers of the state apparatus had disappeared, new inexperienced men of the people took their places and shouldered the responsibility for maintaining essential services. Smalltime officials and servants helped the People’s Commissars to master the machinery and methods of the specific ministries. In my own, the Ministry of Justice, for instance, all the attendants of my czarist predecessors were still there, complete with their old uniforms, and they proved to be loyal and helpful. Thus the heavy iron doors opened almost of their own accord to innumerable people all over Russia, doors behind which the prerogatives and state secrets of the former ruling classes lay concealed. The mysteries of rule and statesmanship which had always awed the Russian were dissipated and they vanished from his mind.
Despite the difficulties faced by the country, the people hurled themselves with elemental strength into the new activities that emerged to them. In factories and workshops, worker committees began to manage production on their own. In the villages, peasants clamored for enlightenment, instruction, books.
“We realize,” the peasants from Atkarsk in Saratov province, for instance, wrote, “that at this time of general reconstruction we too must set our bricks into the future edifice of the republic. But comrades, we are still like blind men; we cannot quite keep up with the lightning events. Make us sighted; tear from our eyes the scales with which the Czars had blinded us. We have always wanted education. The great revolution gives us our first chance. Send us newspapers and revolutionary literature because if you do not, life in the village will decay.”
In large numbers men and women anxious for an education began to flood the schools and universities. Over the centuries the craving for knowledge and art in Russia had merged with the social and moral ideals of the libertarian struggle. Now the revolution was flinging wide the gates of culture and education to the poor. The art theaters and concert halls which, before ; October, had been aspired to, but never entered, suddenly became available to the entire people. This fact tore down yet another barrier between the educated, the Barin classes, and the ignorant masses. Men felt spiritually and mentally liberated, over and above their social and political freedom.
And perhaps this feeling of release and liberation found its greatest expression in the new forms of justice. Russians had always sought what they intimately called “a little right and a little justice.” The simple people had looked with distrust on the paid and uniformed court officials for whom the rich were the rulers and “black injustice” the rule. The great Russian writers, with Tolstoy in their van, had long fed this distrust. But wherever the anonymous man of the people had had a say in the judicial process, he had almost without exception shown both his common sense and his sense of equity.
When, in 1864, trial by jury was introduced in Russia, the reactionary landowners of the day exclaimed in horror over the new institution. How can one leave the life and death of an accused, they argued, in the hands of peasants, of illiterates, of small-minded villagers? Russian experience proved, however, that these nonprofessional, uneducated men made their decisions with great understanding of the law and even greater love of man. They spared man’s self-respect and showed compassion for his family and future.
The Revolution of 1917, which initiated sweeping changes in the system of justice, greatly increased the opportunity for the direct participation of the people in the judicial process. According to new decrees from the Commissariat of Justice, the working classes were to be represented in all courts, from top to bottom. That included even those special courts which were charged with combating the counter-revolution: the revolutionary tribunals. Two workers headed such tribunals in Petrograd itself-Zhukoff and the Bolshevik Zorin. And it was fascinating to watch how these men, who had had no legal training but were inspired with the humanitarianism of the epoch, treated the accused. Many of those brought before them were stubborn defenders of the czarist or the capitalist regime, yet these people’s judges refused to fall into the trap of class hatred. Instead they tried to comprehend the background of these men whose education, from childhood on, had been reactionary. In these circumstances they pronounced light sentences or even passed verdicts of acquittal.
Many new commissariats were established during this period, including a Commissariat for Nationalities. It was to have been the Soviet answer to the demands of various ethnic groups in Russia for full liberation from Russian domination. And the revolution had promised them a federative structure for the entire country. A Bolshevik, who was almost unknown outside his own party circle, was appointed to head this Commissariat. His name was Josef Stalin. His qualifications for this delicate task were that he himself belonged to a small, oppressed nationality in Russia-the Georgians-and that he had, within the framework of the Bolshevik fraction, once specialized in the “nationalities” question.
Stalin was a humble member of the Soviet Government, and he rarely said anything of importance during its sessions. He was a loyal “soldier” of the party and Lenin’s devoted “right hand.” Most Bolshevik leaders generally stood by Lenin and followed his directives. Yet men like Bukharin, Kamenev, Zinoviev, and Dzershinsky always retained their own individuality. But Stalin never seemed to desire more than to be Lenin’s echo. It was enough for Lenin during a discussion to nod his head and Stalin immediately caught the signal, softly left the room and quickly returned with an order written out. And being Lenin’s loyal famulus, Stalin could probably influence him more than could the others.
But behind his readiness to serve he hid an aggressive personality. At the very beginning, for instance, I had a small tiff with him. Just before the opening of one of the sessions of the Council of Commissars, he came up to me asking quietly if we, the Justice Commissariat, could let his Ministry of Nationalities have one of our buildings. (Czarist bureaucrats had left behind many empty buildings in Petrograd.) I replied that I had no objections, but that I would check with those of my colleagues who were in charge of Justice buildings. I had hardly finished the sentence when Stalin suddenly turned red with resentment and hissed, “If you won’t give me the house, I shall send a company of Red Guardists tomorrow and they will take it by force.”
For a moment I stood looking at my “Cabinet colleague” in amazement. Then I answered him in the same friendly tone, “If your company arrives there tomorrow, it will find two companies of Red Guardists waiting to show them what Justice is.” Stalin turned and walked away as noiselessly and modestly as he had come. Later we shared out the buildings between us in far simpler manner.
But that little episode provided a clue to his character as a man and politician. His was the violent and domineering nature which later, with satanic thoroughness, destroyed the revolution itself.
The very question of the use of violence soon became the most urgent issue of the October Revolution. The Bolshevik Party was not satisfied with the establishment of a new social order and new human relations. As we already know from Lenin’s words (quoted in previous chapters), he thought it necessary to consolidate the new order with blood, with wholesale terror. Episodes related in this book demonstrate how Lenin and his colleagues were injecting the germs of fear and civil war into the veins of the nation. The Left Social-Revolutionaries fought them every step of the way, realizing that terror could become the great peril of the revolution.
On February 14, 1918, as Commissar of Justice, I wired the following instructions to all Provincial Soviets:
“Now that the Soviet government has been firmly established we believe that systematic acts of repression against individuals, institutions and newspapers must be stopped. The prevention of counter-revolutionary activity must be confined within the limits of revolutionary justice. Action should be quick and determined, but it must originate in the revolutionary tribunals. The revolution is stern to its active enemies, merciful to the fallen and the conquered. Let none maintain that socialist justice does not reign in the territory of the Soviet republic.”
The leading Bolsheviks objected greatly to this telegram. The Cheka, rather than justice and the courts, was more to their liking. Like a storm cloud growing in the sky until it screens the entire earth, so the shadow of violence gradually spread across the Soviet land. The Left Social-Revolutionaries felt that this issue might well be the cause for a new split in the ranks of the revolution, seeing that the urge to violence and terror went hand in hand with the ambition for a centralized dictatorial regime. But just because they realized the danger, they wanted to do everything in their power to prevent or, at least, retard its development.
The storm at Brest-Litovsk finally broke on February io, 1918. The diplomatic negotiations could not continue so long as there was no support from the Western powers. The spokesman of the German delegation, Major General Max Hoffmann, decided to terminate the dangerous talks and demanded, in an ultimatum, that Russia sign a peace treaty according to German demands. This ultimatum meant that, should Soviet Russia reject their suggestions, the German-Austrian armies would resume their march on Russia. Once again, Germany’s mailed fist was in full view.
The Soviet representatives in Brest-Litovsk rejected the ultimatum. Instead, Trotsky proclaimed a new formula for Russia, or rather, for the Russian Revolution-"No war, no peace.
According to this formula, Russia would not accept a “peace” which was only a front for the plundering appetites of German imperialism; it would not sign a separate, national treaty betraying the solemn goal of peace for all warring countries. But neither would Russia wage a war against the German and Austrian troops, themselves caught in the iron grip of their military overlords and without interest in the continuance of this destructive war. As proof, the Soviets would order the demobilization of the Russian armies. The effect of this “double negative” propounded at the diplomatic table was shattering. When the astounded German generals asked the meaning of these words, which were foreign to their vocabulary, Trotsky replied curtly that he had no further comment, and the Soviet delegation left Brest-Litovsk.
But Trotsky’s statement made an even profounder impression inside Russia, because the whole moral meaning of the revolution was contained in his laconic words. And when, a short time later, the Central Executive of the Soviet in Petrogrnd discussed Trotsky’s historic formula, not a single hand was raised against it-not even from the moderate socialists. A proud calm, compounded with anxiety, descended on a hundred million people. They awaited the approaching days in the hope that the German High Command would not have the courage to order their armies on the march.
But they did, and on February 18, 1918, the Germans began occupying Russian cities. The march pointed toward Petrograd. It was clear that the German purpose was not simply the occupation of Russian territory, but the overthrow of the new revolutionary regime. How should one react to this attack? Sharp differences of opinion emerged in the ranks of the Soviet leaders themselves. Lenin and a section of his party demanded the signing of any peace treaty with Germany. “We are weak, disorganized, economically paralyzed,” they argued. “We cannot stand up to an ‘imperialism armed to the teeth.’ Not military defeat and rapacious peace treaties are important, but the historic opportunity to keep the Soviet republic alive.” Lenin flooded Pravda with articles explaining and justifying capitulation, defending it against those who, like myself, had publicly rejected it.
“The week of February 18 to 24,” he wrote, “the week of the German imperialist attack, has taught us a bitter and humiliating lesson; but it is a needed, useful and beneficient lesson. Compare the two sorts of telegrams received in the government. On one side there is a fatuous flood of ‘revolutionary phrases,’ Steinbergian phrases, in the spirit of the speech which that Left Social-Revolutionary made in the Central Soviet Executive [against capitulating to German demands]. On the other hand, there are the disgraceful reports from the front stating that entire regiments refused to hold the line; to say nothing of the chaos, confusion, helplessness.”
Hence Lenin concluded that capitulation was unavoidable.
“If you cannot adapt yourself,” he thundered, “if you are not prepared to crawl in the dirt on your stomach, then you're no revolutionist, but a chatterbox, because there is no alternative.”
But another section among the Bolsheviks (headed by Bukharin) did consider alternatives. And the party of the Left Social-Revolutionaries called for resistance as the only alternative. Standing fast by the formula of February 10, the Left Social-Revolutionaries declared that the people would not fight an outmoded national war against the attacking troops; but that they would defend themselves by partisan warfare. Such an example might encourage the German people to resistance against their own masters. But “peace” would automatically strengthen the German imperialist forces both at home and abroad.
The Left Bolsheviks founded in Petrograd a newspaper of their own, Kommunist, to fight Lenin’s position. For my part, I replied to Lenin’s attack in the Left Social-Revolutionary daily, Znamya Borby, on February 27, 1918. My article was entitled, “His Majesty’s Voice,” and declared:
“However difficult it is to do this within earshot of German cavalry, it is not permissible to leave unanswered the endless flood of words which these days pours from Lenin’s mouth. Lenin thinks that he can drag socialism along in the shadow of the victorian Prussian eagle. But we believe that the Smolny Institute and the German Embassy cannot stand side by side. If we accept their conditions, the government may continue to exist for a time but no trace will remain of the meaning and content of the republic. We will soon see who spoke in phrases of panic and who in words of courage.”
On the night of February 18, Lenin firmly demanded from the Central Committee of his party that they accept his stand and send a telegram to Berlin stating their readiness for peace. He won a majority by but one voice. Seven, including Stalin and even Trotsky, voted with him; six, among them Bukharin and Dzershinsky, voted against Lenin. This determined the position of the Bolshevik Party. That same night the Central Committees of both parties, Bolsheviks and Left Social-Revolutionaries, met together to formulate a common policy. The tension was almost unbearable. Only Lenin stood smiling, warming himself at the stove. He was completely confident.
The Left Social-Revolutionaries did not like the telegram but, to break the tension, they agreed to its dispatch in a diluted form. Final decision would still rest with the plenary session of the Soviet Executive. ... It is difficult to convey the mortification among the members of the Executive the next morning. Days went by at snail’s pace while the Germans ignored the message and continued their advance. On February 23, their answer came, containing even more oppressive conditions for “peace” than were laid down at the first meeting at Brest-Litovsk: The conditions had to be accepted within forty-eight hours; the Russian representatives were to leave for Brest-Litovsk and within three days sign the treaty. It must be ratified no later than in two weeks.
Anger and opposition flared desperately among the Left Social-Revolutionaries and among all moderate socialists and liberals and in the left wing of the Bolsheviks. But Lenin made a short statement in his Central Committee: “The policy of revolutionary phrases is over. If this kind of policy continues, I shall resign from the government and from the Central Committee. We must accept the conditions.” The Bolshevik leaders were thus faced with two ultimatums-the German and the Lenin ultimatums. And they bowed, foaming with rage, to Lenin’s will. On the night of February 25, the date line of the German ultimatum, the Soviet Executive met in the Tauride Palace. All arguments were heard for the last time at that dramatic session, and at four o'clock in the morning the voting began. One hundred and sixteen voted in favor of signing the German conditions; eighty-five voted against, and twenty-eight abstained. (Bolsheviks from Poland and Lithuania were among those who abstained.) Lenin had managed to exact a slim majority for his policy.
The Government immediately met in an adjoining room, and Lenin proposed a short decree: “According to the decision of the Central Soviet Executive, the Council of Commissars decides to accept the peace conditions of the German government and send a delegation to Brest-Litovsk.” The Left Social-Revolutionary Commissars refused to affix their signatures to this decree. “What is this?” Lenin cried furiously. “That’s the decision of the Soviet Executive!” “Yes,” we replied, “but we shall continue to fight it until ratification two weeks from now.”
In the entire country the struggle continued for the remaining two weeks. On March 3 the delegation-this time without Trotsky or any Left Social-Revolutionaries-signed the “peace treaty” in Brest-Litovsk. To the amazement of the Germans present, the Soviet delegates signed without even reading the document-thus registering their protest. And, just in time for the ultimatum, the Fourth Soviet Congress, the highest organ of the revolution, opened in Moscow on March 12. Once more the tragic issue was debated, between Lenin and the spokesman of the Left Social-Revolutionaries, Boris Kamkov. Lenin’s viewpoint won out with seven hundred votes against three hundred: the Pax Germanica was ratified.
And there was more to come. At the same Congress, the party of the Left Social-Revolutionaries declared that it was withdrawing from the Soviet Government. I made the pronouncement to the consternation of all present. No one had any illusions as to what our decision would mean for the future course of the revolution. The most important official reason for our party’s resignation was the peace of capitulation, for which we would not accept responsibility and which we would certainly not help consummate. But during the short period of our coalition with the Bolsheviks, many other points of difference had sprung into focus. The Bolsheviks were bent on a centralized, industrially proletarian state, on an all-embracing system of violence and coercion, on ejecting the working peasantry from participation in the Government. And the Realpolitiker in Brest-Litovsk had proved that they would not be restrained by any arguments of political morality. In every coalition not so much the formal points of a common program are important as is the spirit of solidarity and mutual confidence between the partners. To a great extent the spirit of the Soviet coalition between Left Social-Revolutionaries and Bolsheviks had rested in the common struggle for an international and democratic peace, for the emancipation of mankind from war and destruction. With Lenin’s decision to accept peace on any terms, the Bolsheviks broke the moral backbone of the coalition.