Rostov-on-Don was primarily a commercial center with a few industries.  The main category of workers there was the large number of men employed on the railroad as Rostov was the principal artery for the railroad lines to the Caucasus and to the Black and Caspian Seas.

On my first day in Rostov I visited the clubrooms of the “Bread and Freedom” group and found there a large number of members, mostly workers and students.  That same day their weekly journal, also titled “Bread and Freedom”, was published. The whole place was a beehive of activity: in one room the newspaper was being prepared for distribution; in another topics of the day were being debated.  In a larger hall a student was speaking on the subject “What is Anarchism and What are Its Goals?”  The audience listened with deep interest to the lecturer’s analysis of the anarchist philosophy, as it was quite a new concept for most of them.

It was growing late when the last of the public finally filed out leaving only the active members of the group.  This provided the opportunity for a group meeting at which I presented my report on what we were accomplishing in Novorossiysk and the objectives of my journey.  The comrades present displayed keen interest in our plan of operations but they were in the same boat we were - in quest of more active workers.  In fact, they urged me to remain and work with them.  It was obvious there were no prospects here for completing my mission so I arranged with them to send us their publication regularly and the following day I departed for Kharkov.

In Kharkov I encountered several of the political émigrés from the United States some of whom were finding it difficult to adjust to the developments of the day and the course the revolution was taking.  Others, of course, missed the higher American standard of living.

I must digress briefly here to explain something that played a significant role during those honeymoon days of the Russian revolution.  As soon as the revolution had liquidated the old regime the various revolutionary factions began to occupy large houses, printing plants and other buildings in order to be able to expand their spheres of activity.  The anarchists of course, did likewise.  Near Petrograd for instance, they occupied a villa known as Dache Durnovo, but the police, together with cadets from a nearby military academy, attacked the building and tried to dislodge them.  One of our young comrades was killed in that fight.

In Moscow there was the Dom Anarchy, (”House of Anarchism”) which the Bolsheviks attacked with cannon after seizing power.  In other cities similar actions occurred on a smaller scale and continued sporadically until after October, when the Bolsheviks launched a campaign to liquidate the occupied houses and printing plants.

Precisely at the time of my arrival in Kharkov I encountered a tense situation which could have resulted in the sacrifice of many men, as had happened elsewhere.  Here the anarcho-communist group had seized a house that extended over two city squares - a veritable palace.  To this day I cannot understand why one constructed such a palatial residence in the nineteenth century.  Beneath the house there were a number of tunnels leading out and surfacing several blocks away. When I arrived there was a great commotion in the city at large and a terrific agitation in the press over the fact that the political commissar of the Kerensky regime had issued an ultimatum to the anarchists to evacuate the palace by a certain date.

The day I arrived in Kharkov, the anarchist group held a special meeting to decide what response to make to this ultimatum, since the commissar had threatened to seize the palace by force the following day.

It was a stormy meeting with one vehement speech succeeding another and it was evident that the old-time anarchist romanticism had come to life again.  The more fiery speakers held to the view that the anarchists must offer resistance, but there were others of a more sober temperament who pointed out that in this “palace” lived a number of women and children and that resistance could only result in a slaughter of these innocents.  Of course those who spoke in this vein were derided as not possessing courage.

While the debating went on, dynamite was placed in the tunnels under the palace and electrical wiring drawn through.  Machine gun emplacements were set up on the roof and in the upstairs rooms. One room was turned into an arsenal, stocked with rifles, revolvers and bombs.  Everything was in readiness for a small-scale war.  The meeting finally adopted a proposal that, if the palace should be attacked and if they were unable to repel the attack, it was to be blown up by the dynamite kept in the tunnels.

The situation was such that even those who opposed resistance and sought a means to avert bloodshed were unable to leave the palace.  They felt they had a moral obligation not to abandon their comrades in such a crisis.  Personally, I had come to seek co-workers for a constructive anarchist project, and now found myself trapped in a military venture for which I saw no rhyme or reason.

In spite of my own feelings, I must admit that, from a military standpoint, the plans for resistance were well organized.  Following the meeting, the younger element went to their posts. Throughout the night, patrols were dispatched to see if military units of the commissar had begun to concentrate around the palace.  However, all intelligence indicated it was quiet in the city.  Dawn came, but no assault.  Later on it was ascertained that several influential revolutionaries had intervened and persuaded the commissar not to resort to military force to capture the palace and a tragic and futile bloodbath was averted.

In two or three days after that tense incident, the atmosphere became a bit more relaxed and I felt warranted in attending a group session to report on the plans of our Novorossiysk group and my own main purpose in coming to Kharkov.  At first, some of the comrades were suspicious that we were anarcho-syndicalists and therefore persona non grata. However the greater part of the comrades took a favorable view of our plans and applauded our effort.  In spite of their warm feelings I was only able to persuade two members to accompany me and to assist in the massive project - George, a chauffeur and émigré from Paris and another young comrade named Volodia.  George was not so much attracted by the nature of our work as by the prospect of his wife and child spending the winter in the warmer climate of the Caucasus, but Volodia possessed genuine enthusiasm for our cause.

The main psychological reason for such a small number out of this large group volunteering their services was the ingrained romanticism that prevailed in the anarchist movement.  The majority of the comrades had only recently been liberated from hard labor in prison or from exile; they had not yet recovered themselves nor come to grips with the new realities created by the February revolution.  The fact is that most of them soon stepped down from the stage and were lost to the Russian anarchist movement; even though at that point in time they were ready to give up their lives, as they had demonstrated on that perilous night, it was impossible to interest them in constructive endeavors which had none of the romantic appeal they sought.

After attending a few more of the daily sessions of the groups I realized that the prospects were dim for accomplishing anything with them.  Accordingly, as soon as the two volunteers were ready, we packed a large bundle of literature together and set out for Novorossiysk.  None of the anarcho-syndicalist faction were willing to accompany me, though this group included several well-known émigrés.  They published a journal called “The Worker’s Path,” and conducted their main agitation among the employees of the factories and railroads.  Their membership was rather modest but they would often engage in heated debates with the anarcho-communists, principally in a park located in the center of Kharkov where public gatherings and discussions were held every evening.

Rattling along in the dimly lit coach on the way back to Novorossiysk, I had ample time to reflect on what I had observed in Kharkov.  The thought kept running through my mind that, if these two groups who were really so close together ideologically, would devote less time to assailing each other on minor points and more in following a constructive program of building a new life on a foundation of freedom, the anarchist movement in Russia during the era of the great revolution would certainly have been able to record a great many more lasting historical achievements.

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