In the Social Storm: Memoirs of the Russian Revolution By Boris Yelensky Chapter 18
Chapter 18
When I returned to Moscow, I immediately set about acquainting myself with the activities of our movement there. I had known since the beginning of 1918 that the Bolsheviks were engaged in a covert campaign against the anarchist movement, under the pretext that they were combatting “bandits” and “criminal elements.” It was under these subterfuges that the organized military pogroms against the anarchist groups in Moscow had been carried out. For two full days there had been a genuine military contest waged, during which a violent assault had been launched on the “Anarchia” house and its periodical. A second house which the anarchists used as a headquarters suffered the same fate.
April 12, l9l8 should be marked as the date when the Bolsheviks attacked and destroyed the anarchist movement in Moscow, as well as in other cities. For those interested in acquainting themselves with the full array of historical facts concerning this event, I would recommend reading G. Maximov’s The Guillotine at Work–Twenty Years of Terror in Russia, issued by the Alexander Berkman Aid Fund in English in 1940.
But the Bolsheviks still lacked the audacity to liquidate the entire anarchist movement. Besides, our eminent spokesman, Peter Kropotkin, was still alive and Lenin eagerly craved his help and sympathy. Lenin badly needed the support of the international proletariat and sought to enlist the help of the syndicalist and anarcho-syndicalist movements throughout the world. This brought about a situation where, after having staged the pogrom against the organized anarchist movement, the Soviet authorities were busy trying to convince the workers of the rest of the world that they were not suppressing anarchists, but “bandits'’ who were allegedly exploiting the anarchist movement for their own selfish ends.
In my quest for our groups in Moscow, I encountered several which bore our narme but which did absolutely nothing in the way of constructive work and which I styled “paper groups.”
In the Hotel National itself (it was then known as “The First Soviet House”), there was lodging at that time a certain Apollon Karelin, a veteran comrade who was widely known in Russia as well as among the emigres; his two rooms served as headquarters for the “All-Russian Federation of Anarcho-Communists. ”
I did not succeed in discovering how many of these groups existed or what they were like. According to Karelin and Maximov, the conclusion is inescapable that anyone who declared himself an anarcho-communist was eligible to become a member of the Federation. When I introduced myself to Karelin, he informed me that our group in Novorossiysk were all members of the Federation. WIhen I asked him how it was that I, an active mernber of the group, knew nothing about this, he replied that the mere fact that our group received the anarchist publication, “The Free Worker,” signified to him that we had joined the Federation. This provoked my curiosity and I enquired after what sort of activity the Federation was engaged in, particularly in Moscow. Karelin replied that he conducted correspondence with several comrades and circulated the newspaper. As for Moscow itself, a meeting was held every week in his home and certain matters were discussed there.
On the day of my visit with Comrade Karelin, the regular meeting of the group was held and I was invited to attend that evening. As a guest, I was given the privilege of making a few remarks and my reporting on what our group had accomplished in Novorossiysk. My story seemed like a fantasy to many of them. Following an open forum discussion, Comrade Karelin read a few communications, and there was a discussion of abstract matters which were of no particular interest to me. Viewed as an “All-Russian Federation of Anarchists in Moscow,” this gatheing impressed me as a very ephemeral thing, with no impact on the mighty events which were shaking all of Russia, and there was obviously no visible effort to carry through any constructive projects. Here again was a small gathering of individuals with a fine-sounding name, sunk in lethargic slumber and dreaming that a new cooperative society wuld somehow descend from heaven.
There was active at that time in Moscow, a Comrade Atabekian, who possessed a small printing press and was issuing a mini-journal. He did all the various jobs himself – sort of a one-man anarchist center. As was expected, Moscow, being the focus of great events, harboring a concentration of anarchist intellectuals who did not adhere to any particular group, but who would engage in such activities such as writing or giving lectures on every possible occasion. The “All-Russian Confederation of Anarcho-Syndicalists” consisted of a small group of comrades who operated a bookshop under the name of Golas Truda. This group also existed more as a theoretical than a functional society, and its influence on the laboring masses was minimal. They do deserve some credit however, for being the only ones to stage protests against the Bolshevik regime. Again, fcr those interested more detail on this subject, I recommend Maximov’s The Guillotine at Work.
“The All-Russian Division of Anarcho-Universalists” was organized in the summer of 1920, consisting of coteries of discordant elements and at the very first gathering a cleavage occurred. There was no coordinated aim or program among the many factions.
The anarchist movement in Moscow also boasted a fraternal “Gordin Group,” which sought to propagate its “Socio-Technics.” They did not so much write books, as “bake” them, so prolific was their literary output. Whether or not anyone read their outpourings was a different matter. They owned a large bookshop filled with their own creations. The Gordin Brothers also operated a restaurant, where the daily bill-of-fare was posted prominently, however, only the two brothers themselves knew what dishes would actually be served. The reason for that was that the Gordin Brothers had spun a whole web of new theories for solving social problems and found that they needed an entirely new language for this purpose, which they developed and styled the “Bee-O-Bo.” It was in this artificial tongue that the daily bill-of-fare was written up on the walls.
Abba Gordin at times “fell from grace” and, when someone insisted, would speak Russian–only as an exception however. The only day the brothers would converse in Russian was on Sunday. On any other day, if one approached Velvel Gordin and began to speak in Russian, he would draw out a slip of paper and write in. Russian: “Come back Sunday; then I will talk to you in Russian.'’
There was also an underground group which resorted to terror and expropriation. It was this unit which threw a bomb at a building where the Moscow Bolshevik leaders were to meet; it also executed several expropriations. This group was connected with non-anarchist factions whose leading figure was a veteran comrade who had formerly participated in the syndicalist movement among the railway workers. A number of youthrul comrades with romantic ideas also joined this underground group; most of them with only a very vague understanding of the group’s aims. I recall in particular a number of very young women who had come in from Switzerland.
The majority of these comrades were killed when the Cheka discovered their hideout. I will have more to say about this group later on.
I found very little satisfaction in my observations of and contact with the Moscow anarchist movement. Even granting the difficulties caused bv the Bolshevik pogrom, still there was no evidence of any attempt to develop a constructive approach to a new social trip. order. The old-time anarchist romanticism hovered enticingly in the air as evidenced by such curiosities as the Gordin brothers “Bee-O-Bo” and the destructive activities of the underground Group. I even began to question if our criticism of the Bolsheviks – aside from our opposition to dictatorship – was really justified, coming at a time when the greater part of the Russian anarchist movement had no clear image or concept of the responsibilities involved in governing or coordinating a vast land like Russia. They seemed to be waiting for some new Messiah to emerge, who would miraculously reconstruct the old social system on a new foundation of libertarian equality.
The more I delve into this theme and recollect those tempestuous days, the more I am troubled by the question cf whether a large share of the guilt for the lamentable outcome of the great Russian social revolution does not fall squarely on the shoulders of the Russian anarchist movement.
I was free as a bird in my new assignment and could come and go as I pleased. One evening, however, I received a phone call from my co-worker, Comrade Moisey, to report to the Commissariat early the following mornlng. When I arrived, Moisey called in Boris Reinstein, who informed me he had an important mission for me which would involve travelling to Kharkov, Ekaterinoslav, Poltava, Kiev and Odessa. I was told that literature would be packed and ready in a day or two for those cities and that in the meanttime I was to go to the railroad station and inspect the specially reconstructed railway coach. Reinstein instructed Moisey to prepare the necessary documents for the trip. When I inquired how much literature would be involved, Reinstein said it would total some 150 parcels. When I heard this, it immediately occurred to me that this would be an ideal opportunity to take along some of our own books to Kharkov.
By this time, Comrade Moisey and I were on terms of mutual trust. Even though he was a Bolshevik, he often engaged me in conversation on topics which most Bolsheviks were afraid to discuss. Aware of this mutual trust, I decided to be frank with him and told him flatly that my Kharkov comrades had requested that I bring some of our literature to that city. I explained that I already had the literature but lacked the means tc transport it and asked him if he had any objections against the step I contemplated. With practically no deliberation, he asked me how many packages I had, and I estimated my ‘’cargo” at fifty packages, more or less. He then drew out a booklet with military requisitions, signed his name and aff’ixed the seal of the Commissariat. He handed this requisition to rne casually and remarked, “You can insert the number of packages you wish to take along when you know the exact number.”
Now that I had the military o.k. in my hands, I was in a position to carry a substantial number of books. I promptly 1ooked up the young man who had accompanied me from Kharkov and we got down to business. We went first to the Gordin brothers bookstore, where we found Abba Gordin. We could not acquire too many books with the sum we had available, so I explained to Gordin that I had a good possibility to transport considerable printed matter to Kharkov but had insufficient funds. I gave him my word of honour that, on my return to Moscow, I would bring him the balance due. He agreed to this proposal, but only on condition that half of our order must consist of writings by him and his brother, Velvel. In that case we would be given works by Kropotkin and other anarchist literature. There was no alternative, so Abba and I began to select the literature, while my assistant packed the material. Then I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my assistant was putting back the Gordin volumes and lifting out from behind the counter packages of Kropotkin’s works. Thus the two of us committed the “sin” of leaving behind the Gordin brother’s “literature.” From there we went to the bookshop of Golos Truda.
This enterprise was being managed by Maximov’s wife, Olga. She was truly a one hundred percent anarcho-syndicalist and took somewhat excessive pride in the fact that she had once been deported to Siberia. Her major weakness was that she could tolerate only “great personalities” and she never failed to remind people that she was an intellectual, a member of the “intelligentsia.” She carried this weakness with her throughout her life, while her husband and comrade, G.P. Maximov, was almost an exact antithesis of his wife. He as a man without rancor, permeated with a deep empathy and kindness toward all mankind.
When we came to the bookstore, she already knew me personally, and was well aware of my activities in Novorossiysk which, to a great extent were close to her own convictions as an exponent of anarcho-syndicalism. However she also knew that I was closely identified with the Nabat movement and this was enough to make me somewhat suspect in her eyes. At any rate, when we entered, I could sense a certain coolness on her part toward us. I explained to her that I had the possibility of moving a considerable stock of our literature to Kharkov, and told her that the Gordin brothers and consented to give us a number of books on credit until my return from Kharkov.
Olga categorically refused to let us have any books on credit. This struck me as a little short-sighted on her part, since with the situation so touchy, she had no assurnace at all that the Bolsheviks would not liquidate and confiscate all this literature at any moment. Yet here was a good possibility to make good use of this literature and here was a woman who called herself “comrade,” declining to trust a comrade who guaranteed payment. When I finally realized that further argument was futile, we picked out a small supply of literature to match our ready cash and departed.
In addition to the modest amount of cash, I still owned some food products which in Moscow at that time were more precious than currency. My young companion took a portion of these edibles and went to peddle them on the market. He returned very shortly carrying a fair amount of cash, though it was still not enough. I decided therefore to call on my friend Moisey and obtain the needed balance from him. We then returned to the Golas Truda center, made full payment for the books and packed them away. With this job completed we found that we had a total of more than sixty packages of literature from the two sources. This made us a little nervous as one might say that we had a whole cargo of “heretical” literature and this at a time when members of the Cheka, the dreaded secret police, spied on every step people took – not to mention journeys of any length.
The following morning I arranged with my young companion to hire two wagons to haul the books away from the Gordin brothers’ bookshop and from Olga’s store. I had at my disposal four wagons already loaded with Bolshevik literature and arranged to meet him on a certain street not far from the station. I issued instructions for the wagons and, after bidding farewell to my co-workers at the Commissariat and promising to bring back more food, I set out.
This time my route was a long one and the trip would take at least a month for, in addition to Kharkov, I was supposed to visit Ekaterinoslav, Poltava, Elisavetrad, Kiev and Odessa. I harboured the hope that this journey would afford me the opportunity to acquaint myself more closely with our Ukrainian Nabat group, as well as some of the other groups.
I spotted my young companion and the other two wagons easily and we joined forces and set out together for the station. When I reached the railroad station, I noticed that the special coach was standing not far away from the place where the baggage was loaded.
While the literature was, to be sure, the property of the Bolshevik government, it was still somehow thought necessary to take it through quite a few yards of government red tape. The bureaucracy decreed that first all the packages must be weighed; then we had to draw up a requisition to the effect that so many parcels and so many pounds were being loaded onto a special railroad coach. Only when this ordeal was completed could the entire load be placed on board the coach. I recalled that I had a special note addressed to the railroad Cheka from the Commissariat requesting that they extend all necessary assistance to me. I therefore approached the head Commissar and handed him my directive and the letter. He promptly called in one of the Cheka officers and directed him to summon a number of Red Army guards to lend whatever help was needed.
Within an hour’s time, we had all the packages of literature stowed on the special coach, including of course the anarchist material. With this task completed, I went to inquire if an order had been issued to have my coach connected with the passenger traisn destined for Kharkov. Only with that clear did I begin to breathe freely – but not for long.
When the train was ready to receive passengers, there were several times as many passengers waiting as the train could accomodate. With as many of these packed inside as possible, plus those standing on the steps of the coaches and lying on the roof, this train also resembled an overfilled herring barrel.
Even my coach had no dearth of special passengers. My Commissariat had dispatched several mailbags, and the chief of the railroad Cheka had brought along several passengers. On top of this, my comrades had gotten wind of the fact that a special coach had been assigned to me, so there was no lack of eager tourists to take up valuable space – and how can one refuse a favour to a comrade? As a result, the coach ended up crammed with passengers so my young friend and myself had no qualms of conscience about having a coach all to ourselves. As was customary in those days, the train pulled out several hours behind schedule. Considering the conditions then, when a journey might last for weeks, or even months, it was not such a bad thing to be travelling in a special coach. However this privilege carried with it a responsibility to be on the alert day and night because there were thousands of these coaches throughout Russia. In particular, one had to be on guard at night to see that the car was not uncoupled from the train. The superior employees on the railways were, for the most part, old-time government officials and, whenever officers of the Red Army with weapons in their hands insisted that their car should be coupled on to the train, it was customary to uncouple the last coach and connect the other in its place. Several such attempts were made against my own coach. It was only by use of the weapons we had on hand and the strict directives from the higher-ups that we were spared having ourselves stuck for an indefinite period of time at some station en route.
We have been speaking for the most part here about persons who had authority or were connected with the Commissariats in the bureaucratic regime. However the ordinary rank-and-file Ivans, who lived in the larger centers of Russia where hunger was becoming more and more a desperate problem would, when hearing that in the Ukraine, the Don and the Caucasus it was possible to obtain some food, set out in droves in the hope of being able to reach such places and bring back some vital nourishment for their families.
This was a supreme dream for countless persons who, in the early months of 1919, were in desperate straights from hunger and were prepared to go to any length to find food. Ethical convictions and moral principles began to vanish. As you can well imagine, finding any kind of food entailed the greatest hardships and the countless tragedies resulting from this famine and the poignant scenes observable on the railroad platforms would fill many volumes.
It is a curious fact that, as soon as a human being satisfies his hunger, even in part, he rapidly forgets the hunger crises he has experienced. I had occasion to talk to a number of people who at times suffered extreme hunger, particularly those who had languished in Hitler’s concentration camps, and it was interesting to note that even these people quickly forgot what they had suffered in the recent past.
Rather than pausing to dwell on the great many happenings during that dreadful period of famine, I shall confine myself to mention of one episode which should illustrate what was really taking place in the lives of a hungry Russian people.
We arrived late the first night in the well-known city of Tula. This was an industrial center of some importance, noted particularly for the production of samovars. When we came to a stop there, over a thousand people swarmed in a mass over the train to try and find seats for themselves. Unfortunately the train was already packed to capacity and very few of the clamouring mob had the good fortune to squeeze their way into the train. I left my seat to make sure they did not uncouple our coach, since we were at the very rear of the train.
As I circled the coach I noticed a woman and a young girl standing near the door. I was puzzled as to why they had picked this particular spot to stand. The train had been standing for about two hours and, when the first signal of the train’s departure sounded, the older woman approached me and asked if I was in command of the coach. When I replied that I was, she told me with bowed head and tears in her eyes that she and her daughter had been sitting there for nearly a week without any means of transportation; and then she added: “If yu will let us on board, you can have anything you want from me or my daughter.” Her meaning was quite unmistakeable and the words unnerved me, especially since she appeared to be a highly cultured woman and daughter was so young.
Before I could reply, she added: “Don’t imagine that I have brought my daughter along only for this purpose. I know what you may be thinking, but it’s not that at all. I have been driven to this by eight hungry mouths. I have all the necessary papers to prove that this is my eldest daughter. It is only hunger that has driven me to this. My husband was shot to death, and his parents and mine and four other children are living at my home.
“My husband was an engineer and did not mix in politics; but a scoundrel in his factory became angry at him and denounced him falsely to the Cheka. Five days later they executed him. Ten weeks later they caught the informer red-handed stealing and he suffered the same fate.”
I felt intuitively that she was telling the truth and her melancholy story moved me deeply. I asked to see her papers and noted that all her documents were in order, permitting both her daughter and herself to travel. I didn’t have the heart to refuse them and admitted them into the coach with the remark that she forget completely the notion of “paying” for her trip with the bodies of herself or her daughter.
When the train set out again for Kharkov I re-entered our coach and found hot tea and some pastry awaiting me in my compartment. I asked my young companion to call in the mother and daughter, realizing that they must be terribly hungry. I was not mistaken. The two of them ate every morsel of bread with relish and, watching them in the warm comfort of the coach, I realized what a terrible ordeal they had experienced. My young companion proved himself a real gentleman by offering them his berth for the night, while he himself went off to sleep on top of the sacks of literature.
The incident had left me shaken and I could not sleep. The train rumbled on monotonously, while in my head swirled a jumble of thoughts and haunting questions. Novorossiysk appeared to me in that half-sleep, part real and part illusion. The wheels of the train seemed to murmur that if we were to do away with such unnecessary anguish and misery, all forms of regimentation and force must be abolished and man must be free to create his own social destiny.