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THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH (Diary IQ20-IQ22) BY . ALEXANDER BERKMAN HUTCHINSON and CO. [Publishers] Limited 33 to 36 Paternoster Row:: London Copyright, 1925, by BONI & LlVERIGHT, IKC.
Printed in the United States of America CONTENTS CEAPTER L The Log of the Transport "Buford" PAGE vii 13 II.
On Soviet Soil...28 III.
In Petrograd...32 IV.
42 V.
The Guest House...,.
46 VI.
TCHICHERIN AND KaRAKHAN...50 VII.
The Market 55 VIII.
In the Moskkommune,.,.
61 IX.
The Club on the Tverskaya...65 X.
A Visit to Peter Kropotkin.
72 XI.
Bolshevik Activities 76 XII.
Sights and Views...82 XIII.
Lenin...89 XIV.
On the Latvian Border...• 93 XV.
Back in Petrograd 114 XVI.
Rest Homes for Workers..,.;.
XVII.
The First of May...,...129 XVIII.
The British Labor Mission...,., 133 XIX.
The Spirit of Fanaticism...142 ■ VI CONTENTS CHAPTER XX.
Other People (■ * 152 XXI.
En Route to the Ukraina * • ■ 158 XXII.
First Days in Kharkov.
In Soviet Institutions.
* m • 174 XXIV.
Prison and Concentration Camp.
.
197 XXVII.
204 XXVIII.
Fastov the Pogrom ed • • a 207 XXIX.
Kiev...• •. • .
2l8 XXX.
In Various Walks,..
* * 1*' 225 XXXI.
240 XXXII.
Odessa: Life and Vision..
1*.
« 245 XXXIII.
A Bolshevik Trial.
• 268 XXXV.
272 XXXVI.
In the Far North..
■ * • • 28l XXXVII.
Early Days of 192 i..
M 291 XXXIX.
Last Links in the Chain • ft • • 304 PREFACE Revolution breaks the social forms grown too nar- row for man. It bursts the molds which constrict him the more solidified they become, and the more Life ever striving forward leaves them. In this dynamic process the Russian Revolution has gone further than any previous revolution.
The abolition of the established — politically and eco- nomically, socially and ethically — the attempt to re- place it with something different, is the reflex of man's changed needs, of the awakened consciousness of the people. Back of revolution are the millions of living humans who embody its inner spirit, who feel, think, and have their being in it. To them revolution is not a mere change of externals: it implies the complete dislocation of life, the shattering of dominant tradi- tions, the annulment of accepted standards. The habitual, measured step of existence is interrupted, ac- customed criterions become inoperative, former prece- dents are void. Existence is forced into uncharted channels; every action demands self-reliance; every detail calls for new, independent decision. The typical, the familiar, have disappeared; dissolved is the coher- ence and interrelation of the parts that formerly con- stituted one whole. New values are to be created.
This inner life of revolution, which is its sole mean- ing, has almost entirely been neglected by writers on the Russian Revolution. Many books have been pub- lished about that tremendous social upheaval, but seldom do they strike its true keynote. They treat of vii • • • Vlll PREFACE the fall and rise of institutions, of the new State and its structure, of constitutions and laws — of the ex- clusively external manifestations, which nearly make one forget the living millions who continue to exist, to be, under all changing conditions.
Justly Taine said that in studying the French Revolu- tion he found statistics and data, official documents and edicts least illuminative of the real character of the period. Its significant expression, its deeper sense, he discovered in the lives, thoughts, and feelings of the people, in their personal reactions as portrayed in the memoirs, journals, and letters of contemporaries.
The present work is compiled from the Diary which I kept during my two years' stay in Russia. It is the chronicle of an intense experience, of impressions and observations noted down day by day, in different parts of the country, among various walks of life. Most of the names are deleted, for the obvious reason of pro- tecting the persons in question.
So far as I know it is the only journal kept in Russia during those momentous years (1920-1922). It was a rather difficult task, as those familiar with Russian conditions will understand. But long practice in such matters — keeping memoranda even in prison — enabled me to preserve my Diary through many vicissitudes and searches, and get it safely out of the country. Its Odyssey was adventurous and eventful. After having journeyed through Russia for two years, the Diary succeeded in crossing the border, only to be lost before it could join me. There followed an anxious hunt through several European lands, and when hope of locating my notebooks was almost given up, they were discovered in the attic of a very much frightened old lady in Germany. But that is another story.
Sufficient that the manuscript was finally found and can now be presented to the public in the present volume. If it will aid in visualizing the inner life of PREFACE * IX the Revolution during the period described, if it will bring the reader closer to the Russian people and their great martyrdom, the mission of my Diary will be accomplished and my efforts well repaid.
Alexander Berkman.
J I I 1 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH 1 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH CHAPTER I THE LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "bUFORD" On Board the U.S.T. "Buford."
December 23, IQ19. — We are somewhere near the Azores, already three days at sea. No one seems to know whither we are bound. The captain claims he is sailing under sealed orders. The men are nearly crazy with the uncertainty and worry over the women and children left behind. What if we are to be landed on Denikin territory...We were kidnapped, literally kidnapped out of bed in the dead of night.
It was late in the evening, December 20, when the prison keepers entered our cell at Ellis Island and ordered us to "get ready at once." I was just undress- ing; the others were in their bunks, asleep. We were taken completely by surprise. Some of us expected to be deported, but we had been promised several days' notice; while a number were to be released on bail, their cases not having been finally passed upon by the courts.
We were led into a large, bare room in the upper part of the building. Helter-skelter the men crowded in, dragging their things with them, badly packed in the haste and confusion. At four in the morning the order was given to start. In silence we filed into the prison yard, led by the guards and flanked on each 13 14 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH side by city and Federal detectives. It was dark and cold; the night air chilled me to the bone. Scattered lights in the distance hinted of the huge city asleep.
Like shadows we passed through the yard toward the ferry, stumbling on the uneven ground. We did not speak; the prison keepers also were quiet. But the detectives laughed boisterously, and swore and sneered at the silent line. "Don't like this country, damn youl Now you'll get out, ye sons of b At last we reached the steamer. I caught sight of three women, our fellow prisoners, being taken aboard. Stealthily, her sirens dumb, the vessel got under way. Within half an hour we boarded the Buford, awaiting us in the Bay.
At 6 A. M., Sunday, December 21, we started on our journey. Slowly the big city receded, wrapped in a milky veil. The tall skyscrapers, their outlines dimmed, looked like fairy castles lit by winking stars — and then all was swallowed in the distance.
• •••••• December 24. — The Buford is an old boat built in 1885. She was used as a military transport during the Philippine War, and is not seaworthy any more. We ship sea constantly, and it pours through the hatches. Two inches of water cover the floor; our things are wet, and there is no steam heat.
Our three women companions occupy a separate cabin. The men arc cooped up in crowded, ill-smelling steerage quarters. We sleep in bunks built three tiers high. The loose wire netting of the one above me bulges so low with the weight of its occupant, it scratches my face whenever the man moves.
We are prisoners. Armed sentinels on deck, in the gangways, and at every door. They are silent and sullen; strict orders not to talk to us., Yesterday I offered one of them an orange — I thought he looked sick. But he refused it.
LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "BUFORD" 1 5 We caught a radio today about wholesale arrests of the radicals throughout the United States. Probably in connection with protests against our deportation.
There is much resentment among our men at the brutality that accompanied the deportation, and at the suddenness of the proceedings. They were given no time to get their money or clothing. Some of the boys were arrested at their work-benches, placed in jail, and deported without a chance to collect their pay checks. I am sure that the American people, if informed, would not stand for another boat-load of deportees being set adrift in the Atlantic without enough clothes to keep them warm. I have faith in the American people, but American officialdom is ruthlessly bureaucratic.
Love of native soil, of home, is manifesting itself. I notice it especially among those who spent only a few years in America. More frequently the men of Southern Russia speak the Ukrainian language. All long to get to Russia quickly, to behold the land they had left in the clutches of Tsarism and which is now the freest on earth.
We have organized a committee to take a census. There are 246 of us, besides the three women. Various types and nationalities: Great Russians from New York and Baltimore; Ukrainian miners from Virginia; Letts, Lithuanians, and one Tartar. The majority are members of the Union of Russian Workers, an An- archist organization with branches throughout the United States and Canada. About eleven belong to the Socialist Party in the United States, while some are non-partisan. There are editors, lecturers, and manual workers of every kind among us. Some are be- whiskered, looking typically Russian; others smooth- shaven, American in appearance. Most of the men arc of decided Slavic countenance, with broad face and high cheek bones.
"We'll work like devils for the Revolution," Big 1 6 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH Samuel, the West Virginia miner, announces to the group gathered around him. He talks Russian.
"You bet we will," comes from a corner bunk in English. It's the mascot of our cabin, a red-cheeked youth, a six-footer, whom we have christened the "Baby."
"Me for Baku," an older man joins in. "I'm an oil driller. They'll need me all right."
I ponder over Russia, a country in revolution, a social revolution which has uprooted the very foundations, political, economical, ethical. There are the Allied invasion, the blockade, and internal counter-revolu- tion. All forces must be bent, first of all, to secure the complete victory of the workers. Bourgeois resistance within must be crushed; interference from without de- feated. Everything else will come later. To think that it was given to Russia, enslaved and tyrannized over for centuries, to usher in the New Day! It is almost beyond belief, past comprehension. Yesterday the most backward country; today in the vanguard. Nothing short of a miracle.
Unreservedly shall the remaining years of my life be consecrated to the service of the wonderful Russian people.
December 25. — The military force of the Buford is in command of a Colonel of the United States Army, tall and severe-looking, about fifty. In his charge are a number of officers and a very considerable body of soldiers, most of them of the regular army. Direct supervision over the deportees is given to the represen- tative of the Federal Government, Mr. Berkshire, who is here with a number of Secret Service men. The Captain of the Buford takes his orders from the Colonel, who is the supreme authority on board.
The deportees want exercise on deck and free asso- ciation with our women comrades. As their chosen LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "BUFORD" 17 spokesman I submitted their demands to Berkshire, but he referred me to the Colonel. I refused to apply to the latter, on the ground that we are political, not military, prisoners. Later the Federal man informed me that "the higher authorities" had granted us exer- cise, but association with the women was refused. Per- mission, however, would be given me to convince myself that "the ladies are receiving humane treatment."
Accompanied by Berkshire and one of his assistants, I was allowed to visit Emma Goldman, Dora Lipkin- Perkus, and Ethel Bernstein. I found them on the upper deck, Dora and Ethel bundled up and much the worse for sea-sickness, the motherly nurse ministering to them. They looked forlorn, those "dangerous ene- mies" of the United States. The powerful American Government never appeared to me in a more ridiculous light.
The women made no complaints: they are treated well and receive good food. But all three are penned in a small cabin intended for one person only; day and night armed sentinels guard their door.
No trace of Christ appeared anywhere on the ship this Christmas Day. The usual espionage and sur- veillance, the same discipline and severity. But in the general messroom, at dinner, there was an addition to the regular meal: currant bread and cranberries. More than half of the tables were vacant, however: most of the men are in their bunks, sick.
December 26. — Rough sea, and more men "laid out." The six-foot "Baby" is the sickest of them all. The hatches have been closed to keep the sea out, and it is suffocating below deck. There are forty-nine men in our compartment; the rest are in the two ad- joining ones.
The ship physician has asked me to assist him on his daily rounds, as interpreter and nurse. The men suffer 1 8 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH mostly from stomach and bowel complaints; but there are also cases of rheumatism, sciatica, and heart- disease. The Boris brothers are in a precarious condi- tion; young John Birk is growing very weak; a number of others are in bad shape.
December 27. — The Boston deportee, a former sailor, claims the course of the Buford was changed twice during the night. "Perhaps making for the Portugal Coast," he said. It is rumored we may be turned over to Denikin. The men are much worried.
Human psychology everywhere has a basic kinship. Even in prison I found the deepest tragedies lit up by a touch of humor. In spite of the great anxiety re- garding our destination, there is much laughter and joking in our cabin. Some wit among the boys has christened the Buford the "Mystery Ship."
In the afternoon Berkshire informed me that the Colonel wished to see me. His cabin, not large, but light and dry, is quite different from our steerage quar- ters. The Colonel asked me what part of Russia we were "expecting to go to." The Soviet part, of course, I said. He began a discussion of the Bolsheviki. The Socialists, he insisted, wanted to "take away the hard- earned wealth of the rich, and divide it among the lazy and the shiftless." Everyone willing to work could succeed in the world, he assured me; at least America — the freest country on earth — gives all an equal opportunity.
I had to explain to him the A B C of social science, pointing out that no wealth can be created except by labor; and that by complex juggling — legal, financial, economic — the producer is robbed of his product. The Colonel admitted defects and imperfections in our sys- tem — even in "the best system of the world, the Ameri- can." But they are human failings; we need improve- ment, not revolution, he thought. He listened with LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "BUFORD" 19 unconcealed impatience when I spoke of the crime of punishing men for their opinions and the folly of de- porting ideas. He believes "the government must protect its people, 1 ' and that "these foreign agitators have no business in America, anyhow."
I saw the futility of discussing with a person of such infantile mentality, and closed the argument by inquir- ing the exact point of our destination. "Sailing under sealed orders," was all the information the Colonel would vouchsafe.
New Year's Day, IQ20. — We are getting friendly with the soldiers. They are selling us their extra cloth- ing, shoes, and everything else they can lay their hands on. Our boys are discussing war, government, and Anarchism with the sentinels. Some of the latter are much interested, and they are noting down addresses in New York where they can get our literature. One of the soldiers — Long Sam, they call him — is especially outspoken against his superiors. He is "sore as hell," he says. He was to be married on Christmas, but he got orders to report for duty on the Buford. "I'm no damn tin soldier like them Nationals (National Guard)," he says; "I'm sev'n years a reg'lar, an' them's the thanks I get. 'Stead of bein' with me goil I'm in this floatin' dump, between Hell an' nowhere."
We have organized a committee to assess every "pos- sessing" member of our group for the benefit of the deportees that lack warm clothing. The men from Pittsburgh, Erie, and Madison had been shipped to Ellis Island in their working clothes. Many others had also been given no time to take their trunks along.
A large pile of the collected apparel — suits, hats, shoes, winter underwear, hosiery, etc. — lies in the center of our cabin, and the committee is distributing the things. There is much shouting, laughing, and joking. It's our first attempt at practical communism.
20 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH The crowd surrounding the committee passes upon the claims of each applicant and immediately acts upon its verdict. A vital sense of social justice is manifested.
January 2, ig20. — In Biscay Bay. Rolling badly. The sailors say last night's storm threw us out of our course. Some ship, apparently Japanese, was signaling for help. We ourselves were in such a plight that we could not aid.
At noon the Captain sent for me. The Buford is not a modern ship — he spoke guardedly — and we are in difficult waters. Bad time of the year, too; storm season. No particular danger, but it is always well to be prepared. He would assign twelve lifeboats in my charge, and I should instruct the men what to do should the contingency arise.
I have divided the 246 male deportees into a number of groups, putting at the head of each one of the older comrades. (The three women are assigned to the sailors' boat.) We are to have several trial alarms to teach the men how to handle the life belts, take their place in line, and get without confusion to their re- spective boats. The first test, this afternoon, was a bit lame. Another trial, by surprise, is to take place soon.
January 5. — Rumors that we are bound for Danzig. It is certain now we are making for the English Chan- nel and expect to reach it tomorrow. We feel greatly relieved.
January 4. — No channel. No land. Very bad night. The old tub has been dancing up and down like a rubber shoe thrown into the ocean by vacationists at Coney Island. Been busy all night with the sick.
Everyone except Bianki and myself is keeping to his bunk. Some are seriously ill. Bianki's nephew, the young school boy, has lost his hearing. John Birk is LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "BUFORD" 2 1 very low. Novikov, former editor of the New York Anarchist weekly, Golos Truda, hasn't touched food for days. In Ellis Island he spent most of his time in the hospital. He refused to accept bail as long as the others arrested with him remained in prison. He con- sented only when almost at the point of death, and then he was dragged to the boat to be deported.
It is hard to be torn out of the soil one has rooted in for over thirty years, and to leave the labors of a life- time behind. Yet I am glad: I face the future, not the past. Already in 191 7, at the outbreak of the Revolu- tion, I longed to go to Russia. Shatov, my close friend and comrade, was about to leave, and I hoped to join him. But the Mooney case and the needs of the anti- war movement kept me in the United States. Then came my arrest for opposing the world slaughter, and my two years' imprisonment in Atlanta.
But soon I shall be in Russia. What joy to behold the Revolution with my own eyes, to become part of it, to aid the great people that are transforming the world I January 5. — Pilot boat I Great rejoicing! Sent wire to our friends in New York to allay the anxiety they must feel because of our mysterious disappearance.
January 7. — We're in the North Sea. Clear, quiet, cool. In the afternoon a bit rolling.
The singing of the boys reaches me from the deck. I hear the strong baritone of Alyosha, the zapevalo, who begins every stanza, the whole crowd joining in the chorus. Old Russian folk songs with their mourn- ful refrain, dripping quiet resignation and the suffering of centuries. Songs palpitating with the frank hatred of the bourzhooi and the militancy of impending struggle. Church hymns with their crescendo recita- tive, paraphrased by revolutionary words. The sol* diers and sailors stand about wrapt in the weird, heart- 22 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH gripping melodies. Yesterday I heard our guard absent-mindedly humming Stenka Razin.
We've gotten so friendly with our guards now that we do as we please below deck. It has become the established rule for soldiers and deportees never to appeal to the officers in the case of dispute. All such matters are referred to me, and my judgment is re- spected. Berkshire has repeatedly hinted his displeas- ure at the influence I have gained. He feels himself entirely ignored.
The sameness of the food is disgusting. The bread is stale and doughy. We have made several protests, and at last the chief steward agreed to my proposition to put two men of our group in charge of the bakery.
January 8. — At anchor in the Kiel Canal. Leaks in the boiler — repairs begun. The men are chafing — the accident may cause much delay. We're sick of the journey. Eighteen days at sea already.
Most of the deportees left their money and effects in the United States. Many have bank deposits which they could not draw because of the suddenness of their arrest and deportation. I have prepared a list of the funds and things owned by our group. The total amounts to over $45,000. I turned the list over to Berkshire today, who promised to "attend to the matter in Washington." But few of the boys have any hope of ever receiving their clothes or money.
January g. — Much excitement. For two days we've had no fresh air. Orders are not to permit us on deck as long as we remain in German waters. They are afraid we might communicate with the outside or "jump overboard," as Berkshire jocosely said. I told him the only place we want to jump off at is Soviet Russia.
I sent word to the Colonel that the men demand daily exercise. The atmosphere in the steerage is LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "BUFORD" 23 beastly: the hatches are shut, and we are almost suffo- cating. Berkshire resented the manner in which I addressed "the Chief."
"The Colonel is the highest authority on the Buford" he shouted.
The group of deportees about me grinned in his face. "Berkman is the only 'Colonel 1 we recognize," they laughed.
I told Berkshire to repeat our message to the Colonel: we insist on fresh air; in case of refusal we will go on deck by force. The men are prepared to carry out their threat.
In the afternoon the hatches were opened, and we were permitted on deck. We noticed that the de- stroyer Ballard, U.S.S. 267, is alongside of us.
January 10. — We are in the Bay, opposite the City of Kiel. On either side of us stretches of land with beautiful villas and clean-looking farmhouses, the still- ness of death over all. Five years of carnage have left their indelible mark. The blood has been washed away, but the hand of destruction is still visible.
The German Quartermaster came on board. "You are surprised at the stillness?" he said. "We are being starved to death by the kindly powers that set out to make the world safe for democracy. We are not yet dead, but we are so faint we cannot cry out."
January II, — We got in touch with the German sailors of the W asserversorger, which brought us fresh water. Our bakers gave them food. Through the port-holes we fired bread balls, oranges, and pota- toes onto the boat. Her crew picked up the things, and read the notes hidden in them. One of the messages was a "Greeting of the American Political Deportees to the Proletariat of Germany."
Later. — Most of the convoy and several officers are drunk. The sailors got schnapps from the Germans 24 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH and have been selling it on board. "Long Sam" went "gunning" for his first lieutenant. Several soldiers called me for a secret confab and proposed that I take charge of the ship. They would arrest their officers, turn the boat over to me, and come with us to Russia. "Damn the United States Army, we're with the Bol- sheviks 1" they shouted.
January 12, — At noon Berkshire called me to the Colonel. Both looked nervous and worried. The Colonel regarded me with distrust and hatred. He had been informed that I was "inciting mutiny" among his men. "You've been fraternizing with the soldiers and weakening the discipline," he said. He declared that guns, ammunition, and officers' apparel were missing, and instructed Berkshire to have the effects of the deportees searched. I protested: the men would not submit to such an indignity.
Returning below deck I learned that several soldiers were under arrest for insubordination and drunkenness. The guards have been doubled at our door, and the convoy officers are much in evidence.
We passed the day in anxious suspense, but no at- tempt to search us was made.
January 13. — We got under way again at 1:4c) P. M. Making for the Baltic. I wonder how this leaky boat will navigate the North Sea and fight the ice there. The boys, including the soldiers, are very nervous: we are on a dangerous road, full of war mines.
Two of the ship's crew are in the "cooler" for having overstayed their shore-leave. I withdrew our men from the bakery in protest against the arrest of the sailors and soldiers.
January 1$. — The 25th day at sea. We all feel worn out, tired of the long journey. In constant fear lest we strike some mine.
Our course has been changed again. Berkshire LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "BUFORD" 2 5 hinted this morning that conditions at Libau will not permit our going there. I gathered from his talk that the United States Government has so far failed to make arrangements for our landing in any country.
Sailors have overheard the Colonel, the Captain, and Berkshire discussing our going to Finland. The scheme is to send me, in company with Berkshire, with a white flag, 70 miles inland, to come to some under- standing with the authorities about our landing. If we are successful, I am to remain there, while Berkshire is to return to our people.
The deportees are opposed to the plan. Finland is dangerous for us — the Mannheimer reaction is slaughtering the Finnish revolutionists. The men re- fuse to let me go. "We'll all go together, or no one shall, 1 ' they declare.
Evening. — This afternoon two American press cor- respondents boarded us, near Hango, and the Colonel gave them permission to interview me. American Con- sul from Helsingfors is also on board with his secre- tary. He is trying to get power of attorney from the deportees to collect their money in the United States. Many of the boys are transferring their bank accounts to relatives.
January 16. — 4:25 P. M. Reached Hango, Fin- land. Helsingfors inaccessible, they say.
January ij. — Landed, 2 P. M. Sent radios to Tchicherin (Moscow) and Shatov (Petrograd) noti- fying them of the arrival of the first group of political deportees from America.
We are to travel in sealed cars through Finland to the Russian border. The Captain of the Buford allowed us three days' rations for the journey.
The leave-taking of the crew and soldiers touched me deeply. Many of them have become attached to us, and they have "treated us white," to use their 26 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH own expression. They made us promise to write them from Russia.
January 18. — Crossing snow-clad country. Cars cold, unheated. The compartments are locked, with Finnish guards on every platform. Even within are the White soldiers, at every door. Silent, forbidding looking. They refuse to enter into conversation.
2 P. M. — In Viborg. We are practically without food. The Finnish soldiers have stolen most of the products given us by the Buford.
Through our car windows we noticed a Finnish worker standing on the platform and surreptitiously signaling us with a miniature red flag. We waved recognition. Half an hour later the doors of our car were unlocked, and the workman entered to "fix the lights," as he announced. "Fearful reaction here," he whispered; "White terror against the workers. We need the help of revolutionary Russia."
Wired again today to Tchicherin and Shatov, urging haste in sending a committee to meet the deportees on the Russian border.
January ig. — In Teryoki, near the border. No reply from Russia yet. The Finnish military authori- ties demand we should cross the frontier at once. We have refused because the Russian border guard, not informed of our identity, might regard us as invading Finns and shoot, thus giving Finland a pretext for war. A sort of armed truce exists now between the two countries, and feeling is very tense.
Noon. — The Finns are worried about our continued presence. We refuse to leave the train.
Representatives of the Finnish Foreign Office agreed to permit a Committee of the Deportees to go to the Russian frontier to explain the situation to the Soviet outpost. Our party selected three per- LOG OF THE TRANSPORT "BUFORD" 27 sons, but the Finnish military would consent only to one.
In company with a Finnish officer, soldier, and inter- preter, and trailed by several correspondents (among them, needless to say, an American press man) I ad- vanced to the border, walking in deep snow through the sparse forest west of the destroyed frontier rail- road bridge. Not without trepidation did we trudge through those white woods, fearing possible attack from the one side or the other.
After a quarter of an hour we reached the border. Opposite us were drawn up the Bolshevik guards — tall, strapping fellows in strange fur attire, with a black-bearded officer in charge.
"Tovarisktchf" I shouted in Russian across the frozen creek, "permit speech with you."
The officer motioned me to step nearer, his soldiers standing back as I approached. In a few words I ex- plained the situation to him and our predicament at Tchicherin's failure to reply to our repeated radios. He listened imperturbably, then said: "The Soviet Committee has just arrived."
It was happy news. The Finnish authorities con- sented to permit the Russian Committee to come on Finnish soil as far as the train, to meet the deportees. Zorin and Feinberg, representing the Soviet Govern- ment, and Mme. Andreyeva, Gorki's wife, who came with them unofficially, accompanied us to the railroad station.
"Koltchak has been arrested and his White Army broken up," Zorin announced, and the deportees greeted the news with enthusiastic shouts and hurrahs. Presently arrangements were completed to transport the men and their luggage to the other side, and at last we crossed the border of revolutionary Russia.
CHAPTER II ON SOVIET SOIL January 20, 1920. — Late in the afternoon yesterday we touched the soil of Soviet Russia.
Driven out from the United States like criminals, we were received at Belo-Ostrov with open arms. The revolutionary hymn, played by the military Red Band, greeted us as we crossed the frontier. The hurrahs of the red-capped soldiers, mixed with the cheers of the deportees, echoed through the woods, rolling into the distance like a challenge of joy and defiance. With bared head I stood in the presence of the visible sym- bols of the Revolution Triumphant.
A feeling of solemnity, of awe overwhelmed me. Thus my pious old forefathers must have felt on first entering the Holy of Holies. A strong desire was upon me to kneel down and kiss the ground — the ground consecrated by the life-blood of generations of suffering and martyrdom, consecrated anew by the revolutionists of my own day. Never before, not even at the first caress of freedom on that glorious May day, 1906 — after fourteen years in the Pennsyl- vania prison — had I been stirred so profoundly. I longed to embrace humanity, to lay my heart at its feet, to give my life a thousand times to the service of the Social Revolution.
It was the most sublime day of my life.
• * • • • ■ 1 r * r At Belo-Ostrov a mass meeting was held to welcome us. The large hall was filled with soldiers and peasants come to greet their comrades from America. They 28 ON SOVIET SOIL 29 looked at us with large, wondering eyes, and asked many strange questions. "Are the workers starving in America? — Is the revolution about to break out? — How soon shall we get help for Russia?'* The crowded place was heavy with the human smell and the fumes of tobacco. There was much pushing and jostling, and loud shouting in rough border speech. Darkness had fallen, but the hall remained unlit. I felt a peculiar sensation in being swayed here and there by the noisy human billows, without being able to distinguish any faces. Then the voices and the motion ceased. My eyes turned toward the platform. It was lit by a few tallow candles, and in their dim light I could make out the figures of several women clad in black. They looked like nuns just out of the cloister, their countenances severe, forbidding. Then one of them stepped to the edge of the platform.
"Tovarishtchi," she began, and the significant word vibrated through my whole being with the intensity of the speaker's ardor. She spoke passionately, ve- hemently, with a note of bitter defiance at the antago- nistic world at large. She told of the high heroism of the revolutionary people, of their sacrifices and struggles, of the great work still to be done in Russia. She castigated the crimes of counter-revolutionists, the Allied invasion and murderous blockade. In fiery words she forecast the approach of the great world revolution, which is to destroy capitalism and the bourgeoisie throughout Europe and America, as Russia has done, and give the earth and the fullness thereof into the hands of the international proletariat.
Tumultuously the audience applauded. I felt the atmosphere charged with the spirit of revolutionary struggle, symbolic of the titanic war of two worlds — the new breaking violent path for itself amid the con- fusion and chaos of conflicting passions. I was con- scious of a world in the making, of the all-uprooting 3 o THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH Social Revolution in action, and myself in the midst of it.
Zorin followed the woman in black, welcoming the arrivals in the name of Soviet Russia, and bespeaking their cooperation in the work of the Revolution. Then several of the deportees appeared on the rostrum. They were deeply moved by the wonderful reception, they said, and filled with admiration for the great Russian people, the first to throw off the yoke of capitalism and establish liberty and brotherhood upon the earth.
I was stirred to the depths of my being, too pro- foundly for words. Presently I became aware of people nudging me and whispering, "Speak, Berkman, speak! Answer him!" I had become absorbed in my emotion and did not listen to the man on the platform. I looked up. Bianki was speaking, the young Russian of Italian descent. I stood aghast as his words slowly carried comprehension to my mind. "We Anarchists," he was saying, "are willing to work with the Bolsheviki if they will treat us right. But I warn you that we won't stand for suppression. If you attempt it, it will mean war between us."