"I also need some 'paper' from you," I remarked jestingly, explaining that I was probably the only per- son in Soviet Russia without "documents," as I had left Petrograd before they were issued to the Buford de- portees. He laughed at my being "unidentified," and recalled the mass meeting of Kronstadt sailors and workers in the Tshinizelli Circus in Petrograd, in 19 17, to protest against my being "identified" with the Mooney case and extradited to California.
He ordered the clerk to prepare a "little paper" for me, and he signed it, remarking that there was much work in the Foreign Office, and that he hoped I would help with translations.
When I looked at the document I saw that it re- ferred in very favorable terms to the "well-known American revolutionist," but that there was no men- tion of my being an Anarchist. Was that term avoided purposely, I wondered? What cause would there be for it in Soviet Russia? I felt as if a veil were stealth- ily drawn over my personality.
Later in the day I visited Karakhan. Tall, good- looking, and well-groomed, he sat leisurely in a sumptu- ous office, his feet resting on a fine tiger skin. His appearance justified the humorous characterization I heard of him in the ante-room. "A Bolshevik who can wear white gloves gracefully," someone had said.
Karakhan asked me to converse in Russian. "Namarked. We discussed the labor situation abroad, and ture has talent for languages," he re- TCHICHERIN AND KARAKHAN 53 he expressed himself confident of the speedy bank- ruptcy of international capitalism. He was enthusiastic about the "growing influence of the Communist Party in England and America," and seemed much displeased when I pointed out that his optimism was entirely un- justified by the actual state of affairs. He listened with a smile of well-bred incredulity as I spoke of the re- action following the war and the persecution of radical- ism, in the States. "But the workers of England and America, inspired by the Communists, will presently force their governments to lift the blockade," he in- sisted. I sought to impress him that Russia must make up her mind to rely upon herself for the reconstruction of her economic life. "Of course, of course," he as- sented, but there was no conviction in his tone.
"Our hope is in the lifting of the blockade," he said again, "and then our industries will develop quickly. At present we are handicapped by the lack of machinery and skilled labor."
Referring to the peasantry, Karakhan asserted that the farmer profited by the Revolution more than any other part of the population. "Why," he exclaimed, "in the villages you will find upholstered furniture, French mirrors, graphophones, and pianos, all given to them by the city in exchange for food. The luxuries of the mansion have been transferred to the hovel," he laughed, pleased with his bon mot and gracefully strok- ing his well-trimmed black beard. "We have declared 'war to the palaces, peace to the huts,' " he continued, "and the muzhik lives like a burin (master) now. But the Russian peasant is backward and deeply imbued with the petty bourgeois spirit of ownership. The kulaki (well-to-do peasants) often refuse to contribute of their surplus, but the Army and the city proletariat must be fed, of course. We have therefore been com- pelled to resort to the razvyorstka (requisition) — an unpleasant system, forced upon us by the Allied block- ade. The peasants must do their share to sustain the 54 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH soldiers and the workers who are the vanguard of the Revolution, and on the whole they do so. Occasionally the muzhiki resist requisition, and in such cases the military is called upon. Unfortunate occurrences, but not very frequent. They usually happen in the Ukraina, our richest wheat and corn region — the peasants are mostly kulaki there."
Karakhan lit a cigar and continued: "Of course, when requisition is made, the Government pays. That is, it gives the peasant its written obligation, as proof of its good faith. Those 'papers' will be honored as soon as civil war is over, and our economic life put in order."
The conversation turned to the recent arrests in Moscow in connection with a counter-revolutionary conspiracy unearthed by the Tcheka. "Oh, yes," Karakhan smiled, "they are still plotting." He grew thoughtful for a moment, then added: "We abolished capital punishment, but in certain cases exceptions have to be made."
He leaned comfortably back in his armchair and continued: "One mustn't be sentimental. I remember how hard it was for me, way back in 19 17, when I myself had to arrest my former college chums. Yes, with my own hands" — he held out both hands, white and well-cared for — "but what will you? The Revolution imposes stern duties upon us. We mustn't be sentimental," he repeated.
The subject changed to India, Karakhan remarking that a delegate had just arrived from that country. The movement there was revolutionary, though of na- tionalistic character, he thought, and could be exploited to keep England in check. Learning that while in California I was in touch with Hindu revolutionists and Anarchists of the Hindustan Gadar organization, he suggested the advisability of getting in communication with them. I promised to look after the matter.
CHAPTER VII THE MARKET I like the feel of the hard snow singing under my feet. The streets are alive with people — a striking contrast to Petrograd, which gave me the impression of a graveyard. The narrow sidewalks are crooked and slippery, and everybody walks in the middle of the street. Rarely does a street-car pass, though an auto creaks by occasionally. The people are better dressed than in Petrograd and do not look so pale and ex- hausted. More soldiers are about and persons clad in leather. Tcheka men, I am told. Almost everybody carries a bundle on his back or pulls a little sleigh loaded with a bag of potatoes dripping a blackish fluid. They walk with a preoccupied air and roughly push their way ahead.
Turning the corner into the Miasnitskaya Street, I noticed a large yellow poster on the wall. My eye caught the word Prikaz in big red letters. Prikaz — order — instinctively the expression associated itself in my mind with the old regime. The poster was couched in the familiar style, "I command," "I order," re- peating themselves with the frequency usual in the old police proclamations. "I command the citizens of Moscow," I read. Citizens? I sought the date. It was marked January 15, 1920, and was signed by the Commissar of Militia. The Prikaz vividly recalled the gendarmes and the Cossack order of things, and I resented it. The Revolution should find another lan- guage, I thought.
I passed the Red Square where the heroes of the Revolution are buried along the Kremlin wall. Thou- 55 56 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH sands of others, as devoted and heroic, lie in unknown graves throughout the country and on the fronts. A new world is not born without pain. Much hunger and misery Russia is suffering still, the heritage of the past which the Revolution has come to abolish forever.
On the wall of the old Duma, near the Iverskaya Gate, I read the legend cut into the stone: "Religion is opium for the people." But in the chapel nearby services were being held and the place was crowded. The cassocked priest, long hair down his back, was musically reciting the Greek-Catholic litany. The wor- shipers, mostly women, knelt on the cold floor, con- tinuously crossing themselves. Several men, shabbily dressed and carrying portfolios, came in quietly, bowed low and crossed themselves reverently.
A little further I came upon a market place, the historic Okhotny Ryad, opposite the Hotel National. Rows of little stalls on one side, the more pretentious stores on the other, the sidewalk between them — it has all remained as in the time past. Fish and butter were offered, bread and eggs, meat, candy, and cosmetics — a living page from the life the Revolution has abolished. An old lady with finely chiseled features, in a thread- bare coat, stood quietly holding a Japanese vase. Near her was another woman, younger and intellectual look- ing, with a basket containing crystal wine glasses of rare workmanship. On the corner little boys and girls were selling cigarettes and lepyoshki, a kind of potato pancake, and further I saw a crowd surrounding an old woman busily dishing out tshtchi (cabbage soup).
"A fiver, a fiver I" she cried in a hoarse, cracked voice. "Delicious tshtchi, only five kopeks 1" The steaming pot breathed an appetizing odor. "Give me a plate," I said, handing the woman a rouble.
"God be with you, little uncle," she eyed me sus- piciously, "a fiver it costs, five kopeks."
"Here's a whole rouble," I replied.
THE MARKET 57 The crowd laughed good-humoredly. "She means five roubles," someone explained, "a rouble is only a kopeck.' 1 "It ain't worth that, either," a little urchin chimed in.
The hot liquid sent a pleasing warmth through my body, but the taste of voblia (fish) was insufferable. I made a motion to return the dish.
"Please permit me," a man at my elbow addressed me. He was of middle age, evidently of the intelli- gentsia, and spoke in accents of the cultured Russian. His shiny dark eyes lit up features of a sickly pallor. "Your permission," he repeated, indicating the dish.
I handed him the plate. Avidly, like a starved man, he swallowed the hot tsktchi, gleaning the last shred of cabbage. Then he thanked me profusely.
I noticed a thick volume under his arm. "Bought it here?" I asked.
"Ah, no, how is it possible! I have been trying to sell it since morning. I'm a civil engineer, and this is one of my last," he patted the book affectionately. "But excuse me, I must hurry to the store before it is too late. They haven't given any bread out for two days. Extremely obliged to you."
I felt a tug at my elbow. "Buy some cigarettes, little uncle," — a young girl, extremely emaciated, held her hand out to me. Her fingers, stiff with cold, were insecurely clutching the cigarettes lying loose in her palm. She was without hat or coat, an old shawl wrapped tightly about her slender form.
"Buy, barin" she pleaded in a thin voice.
"What barin," a girl nearby resented. "No more barin (master), we're all tovarishtchi now. Don't you know," she gently chided.
She was comely, not over seventeen, her red lips strongly contrasting with the paleness of her face. Her voice was soft and musical, her speech pleasing.
58 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH For a moment her eyes were full upon me, then she motioned me aside.
"Buy me a little white bread," she said modestly, yet not in the least shamefaced; "for my sick mother."
"You don't work?" I asked.
"Don't work I" she exclaimed, with a touch of re- sentment. "I'm typing in the sovnarkhoz, but we get only one-half pound of bread now, and little of any- thing else."
"Oblavaf (raid) militsioneri!" There were loud cries and shouts, and I heard the clanking of sabres. The market was surrounded by armed men.
The people were terror-stricken. Some sought to escape, but the military circle was complete; no one was permitted to leave without showing his papers. The soldiers were gruff and imperious, swearing coarse oaths and treating the crowd with roughness.
A militsioner had kicked over the tshtchi pot, and was dragging the old woman by the arm. "Let me get my pot, little father, my pot," she pleaded.
"We'll show you pots, you cursed speculator," the man threatened, pulling her along.
"Don't maltreat the woman," I protested. "Who are you? How dare you interfere!" a man in a leather cap shouted at me. "Your papers I" I produced my identification document. The Tchekist glanced at it, and his eye quickly caught the stamp of the Foreign Office and Tchicherin's signa- ture. His manner changed. "Pardon me," he said. "Pass the foreign tovarishtch" he ordered the soldiers. On the street the militsioneri were leading off their risoners. Front and rear marched the soldiers with ayoneted rifles held horizontally, ready for action. On either flank were Tcheka men, their revolvers pointed at the backs of the prisoners. I caught sight of the tshtchi woman and the tall engineer, the thick volume still under his arm; I saw the aristocratic old THE MARKET 59 lady in the rear, the two girls I had spoken to, and several boys, some of them barefoot.
I turned toward the market. Broken china and torn lace littered the ground; cigarettes and lepyoshki lay in the snow, stamped down by dirty boots, and dogs rapaciously fought for the bits of food. Children and women cowered in the doorways on the opposite side, their eyes following the soldiers left on guard at the market. The booty taken from the traders was being piled on a cart by Tchekists.
I looked at the stores. They remained open; they had not been raided.
In the evening I dined at the Hotel National with several Communist friends who had known me in America. I used the occasion to call their attention to the scene I had witnessed on the market place. In- stead of being indignant, as I expected, they chlded me for my "sentimentality." No mercy should be shown the speculators, they said. Trade must be rooted out: buying and selling cultivates petty middle-class psy- chology. It should be suppressed.
"Do you call those barefoot boys and old women — speculators?" I protested.
"The worst kind," replied R., formerly member of the Socialist Labor Party of America. "They live bet- ter than we do, eat white bread, and have money hidden away."
"And the stores? Why are they permitted to con- tinue?" I asked.
"We closed most of them," put in K., Commissar of a Soviet House. "Soon there will not be any of them left open."
"Listen, Berkman," said D., an influential leader of the labor unions, in a leather coat, "you don't know those 'poor old men and women,' as you call them. By day they sell lepyoshki, but at night they deal in dia- 6o THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH monds and valuta. Every time their homes are searched we find valuables and money. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. I have had charge of such searching parties myself."
He looked severely at me, then continued: "I tell you, those people are inveterate speculators, and there is no way of stopping them. The best thing is to put them to the wall, razstrelyat — shoot them," he raised his voice in growing irritation.
"Not seriously?" I protested.
"No? Eh?" he shouted in a rage. "We're doing it every day."
"But capital punishment is abolished."
"It's rarely resorted to now," R. tried to smooth matters, "and that only in the military zone."
The labor Tchekist eyed me with cold, inimical gaze. "Defending speculation is counter-revolutionary," he said, leaving the table.
CHAPTER VIII IN THE MOSKKOMMUNE The Commissar of our ossobniak, having to lay in provisions, invited me to accompany him to the Mosk- kommune. It is the great food supply center, a tremen- dous organization that feeds Moscow and its environs. Its trains have the right of way on all lines and carry food from parts as distant as Siberia and Turkestan. Not a pound of flour can be issued by any of the "stores" — the distributing points scattered throughout the city — without a written order signed and counter- signed by the various bureaus of the Commune. From this center each "distributor" receives the amount necessary to supply the demands of the given district, according to the norm allowed on the bread and other cards.
The Moskkommune is the most popular and active institution; it is a beehive swarming with thousands of employees, busy determining the different categories of pyock and issuing "authorizations." Besides the bread rations, sugar, tea, etc., given to the citizen by the "store" of his district, he also receives his ration in the institution that employs him. The pyock differs ac- cording to the "quality" of the citizen and the position he occupies. At present soldiers and sailors receive i l / 2 lbs. of bread per day; Soviet employees 3 lbs. every two days; those not working — because of age, sickness or disability other than military — receive lb. There are special categories of "preferred" pyock; the aca- demical for old scientists and professors whose merits are recognized by the State, and also for old revolu- tionists not actively opposed to the Communists.
62 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH There are "preferred" pyocks in important institutions, such as the Komintern (the Third International), the Narkominodel (Foreign Office), Narkomput (Com- missariat of Railways), Sovnarkhoz (Soviet of Public Economy), and others. Members of the Communist Party have the opportunity of receiving extra rations through their Communist organizations, and preference is given them in the departments issuing clothing. There is also a Sovnarkom pyock, the best to be had, for important Communist officials, Commissars, their first assistants, and other high-placed functionaries. The Soviet Houses, where foreign visitors and influen- tial delegates are quartered, such as Karakhan's ossob- niak and the Hotel Lux, receive special food supplies. These include fats and starches (butter, cheese, meat, sugar, candy, etc.), of which the average citizen re- I discussed the matter with our House Commissar, who is a devoted Party man. "The essence of Com- munism is equality," I said; "there should be only one kind of pyock, so that all will share equally."
"The Er-Kah-Peh (Communist Party) decided the matter long ago, and it is right so," he replied.
"But how can it be right?" I protested. "One per- son receives a generous pyock, more than enough to live on; another gets less than enough; a third almost nothing. You have endless categories."
"Well," he said, "the Red Army men at the front must get more than the city man; they do the hardest fighting. The soldier at home also must be encouraged, as well as the sailor; they are the backbone of the Revolution. Then the responsible officers deserve a little better food. Look how they work, sixteen hours a day and more, giving all their time and energy to the cause. The employees of such important institutions as Narkomput and Narkominodel must be shown some preference. Besides, a great deal depends on how well IN THE MOSKKOMMUNE 63 a certain institution is organized. Many of the big ones procure most of their supplies directly from the peasantry, through special representatives and the co- operatives."
"If anyone is to receive preference, I think it should be the workers," I replied. "But they get almost the worst pyock."
"What can we do, tovarishtch! If it were not for the cursed Allies and the blockade, we'd have food enough for all," he said sadly. "But it won't last long now. Did you read in the Izvestia that a revolution is to break out soon in Germany and Italy? The prole- tariat of Europe will then come to our aid."
"I doubt it, but let's hope so. In the meantime we can't be sitting and waiting for revolutions to happen somewhere. We must exert our own efforts to put the country on its feet."
The Commissar's turn in line came, and he was called into an inner office. We had been waiting several hours in the corridors of the various bureaus. It seemed that almost every door had to be entered before a sufficient number of resolutsyi (endorsements) were secured, and the final "order" for supplies obtained. There was a continuous movement of applicants and clerks from office to office, everyone scolding and pushing toward the head of the line. The waiting men watched closely that no one got ahead of his proper place. Frequently someone would march straight to the office door and try to enter, ignoring the queue.
"Into the line, into the line I" the cry would be raised at once. "The sly one! Here we've been standing for hours, and he's just come and wants to enter already."
"I'm vne otcheredi (not to wait in line)," the man would answer disdainfully.
"Show your authorization 1" One after another came these men and women vne otcheredi, with slips of paper securing immediate ad- 64 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH mission, while "the tail" was steadily growing longer.
"I'm standing three hours already," an old man com- plained; "in my bureau people are waiting for me on important business."
"Learn patience, little father," a workman replied good-humoredly. "Look at me, I've been in line all day yesterday since early morning, and all the time these vne otcheredi kept coming, and it was 2 P. M. when I got through the door. But the chief there, he looks at the clock and says to me, says he, 'No more to- day; no orders issued after 2 p. M. Come tomorrow.' 'Have mercy, dear one,' I plead. 'I live seven versts away and I got up at five this morning to come here. Do me the favor, golubtshik, just a stroke of your pen and it's done.' 'Go, go now,' the cruel one says, 'I haven't time. Come tomorrow,' and he pushed me out of the room."
"True, true," a woman back of him corroborated, "I was right behind you, and he wouldn't let me in either, the hard-hearted one."
The Commissar came out of the office. "Ready?" I asked.
"No, not yet," he smiled wearily. "But you'd better go home, or you'll lose your dinner."
In the Kharitonensky Sergei was waiting for me.
"Berkman," he said, as I entered, "will you let me share your room with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've been ordered to vacate. My time's up, they say. But I have nowhere to go. I'll look in the morn- ing for another place, but meantime?"
"You'll stay with me."
"But if the House Commissar should object?" "Are you to be driven into the street in this frost? Remain on my responsibility."
CHAPTER IX THE CLUB ON THE TVERSKAYA In the "Universalist" Club on Tverskaya Street I was surprised to meet a number of the Buford de- portees. They had grown tired waiting to be assigned to work in Petrograd, they said, and had decided to come to Moscow. They are quartered in the Third Soviet House, where they receive less than a pound of bread and a plate of soup as their daily ration. Their American money is spent: the Petrograd authorities had paid them 18 roubles for the dollar, but in Moscow they learned that the rate is 500. "Robbed by the great revolutionary Government," Alyosha, the ship zapevalo, commented bitterly.
"We are selling our last American things," Vladimir remarked. "It's lucky some markets are open yet."
"Trading is forbidden," I warned him.
"Forbidden!" he laughed scornfully. "Only to the peasant women and the kids peddling cigarettes. But look at the stores — if they pay enough graft they can keep open all they want. You've never seen such cor- ruption; America ain't in it. Most of the Tchekists are from the old police and gendarmery, and they graft to the limit. The militiamen are thieves and highwaymen that escaped being shot by joining the new police force. I had a few dollars when I came to Moscow; a Tchek- ist changed them for me."
People of every revolutionary tendency gather in the Club: moderate Left Social Revolutionists and the more extreme adherents of Spiridonova; Maximalists, Individualists, and Anarchists of various factions. There are old katorzhane among them who had passed 6s 66 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH years in prison and in Siberia under the old regime. Liberated by the February Revolution, they have since participated in all the great struggles. One of the most prominent is Barmash, who had been sentenced to death by the Tsar, somehow escaped execution, and later played a prominent role in the events of February and October, 19 17. Askarev, for many years active in the Anarchist movement abroad, is now a member of the Moscow Soviet. B was a labor deputy in Petrograd during Kerensky's time. Many others I have met at the "Universalist" headquarters, men and women grown gray and old in the revolutionary struggle.
There is great divergency of opinion in the Club about the character and role of the Bolsheviki. Some defend the Communist regime as an inevitable stage of the "transitional period!" Proletarian dictatorship is necessary to secure the complete triumph of the Revo- lution. The Bolsheviki were compelled to resort to the razvyorstka and confiscation, because the peasants refused to support the Red Army and the workers. The Tcheka is needed to suppress speculation and counter-revolution. But for the constant danger of conspiracies and armed rebellion, incited by the Allies, the Communists would abolish the severe restrictions and permit greater liberty.
The more extreme elements condemn the Bolshevik State as the most unmitigated tyranny, as a dictator- ship over the proletariat. Terrorism and the central- ization of power in the exclusive hands of the Com- munist Party, they charge, have alienated the masses, limited revolutionary growth, and paralyzed construc- tive activity. They denounce the Tcheka as counter- revolutionary, and call the razvyorstka downright robbery, responsible for the multiplying peasant insur- rections.
Bolshevik policies and methods are the inexhaustible THE CLUB ON THE TVERSKAYA 67 subjects of discussion at the Club. Little groups stand about in animated conversation, and K, the well- known former Schlusselburgets,* is haranguing some workers and soldiers in the corner. "The safety of the Revolution is in the masses being vitally interested in it," he is saying. "There was no counter-revolution when we had free Soviets; every man stood on guard of the Revolution then, and we needed no Tcheka. Its terrorism has cowed the workers, and driven the peasantry to revolt."
"But if the peasants refuse to give us food, how are we going to live?" a soldier demands.
"The peasants never refused as long as their Soviets could deal directly with the soldiers and workers," K replies. "But the Bolsheviki have taken the power away from the Soviets, and of course the peas- ants don't want their food to go to the Commissars or to the markets where no worker can afford to buy it. 'The Commissars are fat, but the workers starve, 1 the peasants say."
"The peasants are up in rebellion In our parts," a tall man in fur cap puts in. "I'm from the Ural. The razvyorstka has taken everything from the farmers there. They haven't even enough seed left for the next spring sowing. In one village they refused to give up and killed a Commissar, and then the punitive expedi- tion came. They flogged the peasants, and many were shot."
In the evening I attended the Anarchist Conference at the Club. First dokladi were read, reports of activi- ties of an educational and propagandistic character; then speeches were delivered by Anarchists of various schools, all critical of the existing regime. Some were very outspoken, in spite of the presence of several "suspicious ones," Tchekists evidently. The Univer- salists, a new, distinctively Russian current, took a •Political imprisoned in the Schlusselburg Fortres*.
68 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH Center position, not so fully in accord with the Bolshe- viki as the Anarchists of the moderate Golos Truda Group, but less antagonistic than the extreme wing. The most interesting talk was an impromptu speech by Rostchin, a popular university lecturer and old Anarch- ist. With biting irony he castigated the Left and Center for their lukewarm, almost antagonistic, attitude to the Bolsheviki. He eulogized the revolutionary role of the Communist Party, and called Lenin the greatest man of the age. He dwelt on the historic mission of the Bolsheviki, and asserted that they are directing the Revolution toward the Anarchist society, which will secure full individual liberty and social well-being. "It is the duty of every Anarchist to work whole-heartedly with the Communists, who are the advance guard of the Revolution," he declared. "Leave your theories alone, and do practical work for the reconstruction of Russia. The need is great, and the Bolsheviki welcome you."
"He's a Sovietsky Anarchist," came sarcastically from the audience.
Most of those present resented Rostchin's attitude, but his appeal stirred me. I felt that he suggested the only way, under the circumstances, of aiding the Revo- lution and preparing the masses for libertarian, non- governmental Communism.
The Conference proceeded with the main questions at issue — the growing persecution of Left elements and the multiplying arrests of Anarchists. I learned that already in 191 8 the Bolsheviki had practically declared war against all non-Communist revolutionary bodies. The Left Social Revolutionists, who had opposed the Brest-Litovsk peace and killed Mirbach in protest, were outlawed, and many of them executed or imprisoned. In April of that year Trotsky also ordered the sup- pression of the IVIoscow Anarchist Club, a powerful organization which had its own military units, known THE CLUB ON THE TVERSKAYA 69 as the Black Guard. The Anarchist headquarters were attacked without warning by Bolshevik artillery and machine guns, and the Club dissolved. Since then per- secution of the Left parties has continued intermit- tently, in spite of the fact that many of their members are at the front, while others are cooperating with the Communists in various Government institutions.
"We fought side by side with the Bolsheviki on the barricades," the Schlusselburgets declared; "thousands of our comrades died for the Revolution. Now most of our people are in prison, and we ourselves live in constant dread of the Tcheka."
"Rostchin says we ought to be thankful to the Bol- sheviki," someone sneered.
The Resolution passed by the Conference empha- sized its devotion to the Revolution, but protested against the persecution of Left elements, and demanded the legalization of Anarchist cultural and educational work.
"It may seem strange to you that Anarchists should apply to the Government to be legalized," the Univer- salist Askarev said to me. "As a matter of fact, we do not regard the Bolsheviki as an ordinary govern- ment. They are still revolutionary, and we recognize and give them credit for what they have accomplished. Some of us disagree with them fundamentally and dis- approve of their methods and tactics, but we can speak to them as comrades."
I consented to join the Committee chosen to present the Resolution of the Conference to Krestinsky, the secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party.
•1 •> •• 1*1 (•■!•) The ante-room of Krestinsky's office was crowded with Communist delegates and committees from vari- ous parts of the country. Some of them had come from points as distant as Turkestan and Siberia, to 70 THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH report to "the center" or have some weighty problem decided by the Party. The delegates, with thick port- folios under their arms, looked conscious of the impor- tant missions entrusted to them. Almost everyone sought a personal interview with Lenin, or expected to make a verbal doklad to the full session of the Central Committee. But I understand that they seldom get further than the secretary's office.
Almost two hours passed before we were admitted to Krestinsky, who received us in a business-like, al- most brusque, manner. The secretary of the all-power- ful Communist Party is a man of middle age, short, and of dark complexion, in his whole appearance the typical Russian intellectual of the pre-Revolution days. He is very near-sighted and nervous, and speaks in a hasty, abrupt way.
Having explained the purpose of our call, we dis- cussed the resolution of the Conference, and I ex- pressed my surprise and sorrow at finding Anarchists and other Left elements imprisoned in the Soviet Re- public. American radicals would not believe such a state of affairs in Russia, I remarked; a friendlier attitude on the part of the Communists, sympathy and understanding brought to bear on the situation, and the well-disposed Left element could be of the greatest ser- vice to our common cause. Some way should be found, I urged, to bridge the rupture and to bring all revolu- tionary elements into closer contact and cooperation.
"You think it possible?" Krestinsky asked dryly.
Askarev reminded him of the October days, when the Anarchists so effectively aided the Bolsheviki, and referred to the fact that most of them are still working together with the Communists in various fields of ac- tivity, in spite of the suppressive policies of the Gov- ernment. Revolutionary ethics demand the liberation of the imprisoned Anarchists, he emphasized. They THE CLUB ON THE TVERSKAYA 71 had been arrested without cause, and no charges have been brought against them.
"It's solely a question of serving our purpose," Krestinsky remarked. "Some of the prisoners may be dangerous. Perhaps the Tcheka has something against them."
"They have been in prison for months, yet not a single one of them has been tried or even received a hea ring," Askarev retorted.
"What guarantee have we that If released they will not continue their opposition to us?" Krestinsky de- manded.
"We claim the right to carry on our educational work unhindered," Askarev replied.
Krestinsky promised to submit the matter to the Central Committee of the Party, and the audience was over.
• CHAPTER X A VISIT TO PETER KROPOTKIN Kropotkin lives in Dmitrov, a small town sixty versts from Moscow. Owing to the deplorable railroad con- ditions, traveling from Petrograd to Dmitrov was not to be thought of. But recently I learned that the Gov- ernment had made special arrangements to enable Lansbury to visit Kropotkin, and with two other friends I took advantage of the opportunity.