In the Social Storm: Memoirs of the Russian Revolution By Boris Yelensky Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Standing there bemused near the Tsentro-Pechat offices, I might have remained lost in thought indefinitely had not someone behind me laid a hand on my shoulder. When I turned, I recognized an emigre from the United States with whom I was well acquainted. He was not personally active in the anarchist movement but helped whenever he could. He was, I knew, occupying a high post with the Bolsheviks, though I did not know the precise nature of his work.
He told me that he had been watching for me for some days and that he had learned at the Tsentro-Pechat of my return to Moscow. He now invited me to his home for dinner, where he would disclose the reason for his search. Since there was some free time before this engagement, I went to the club where I found some of my comrades. Their mood of depression was still only too evident. The whole scene was quite curious. A variety of topics were being discussed, yet there was not a word of criticism being spoken about what was going on in Moscow and elsewhere – not even of the political detainees still imprisoned in the Moscow jails. After a short stay, I called on a comrade who told me of rumors that the political prisoners would be sent to Arkhangelsk, where the ancient Solovetsky Monastery was located. It was apparently the intention to set up a concentration camp there. Should this prove true, many of our comrades would be totally unprepared for it, if only because of the bitter cold that prevailed so far north, aside from its almost total alienation from the rest of the world. The few comrades now still at liberty must now bestir themselves to collect warm garments in case the deportations to Arkhangelsk should begin.
I undertook to meet with those through whom I might be able to procure warm clothes for the prisoners. When I arrived at the home of my friend for dinner that night, I was surprised to find myself in a luxurious and well-appointed apartment, such as few family groups in Moscow enjoyed at that time. The food also was more ample and varied than was generally obtainable then. My friend told me that the Bolshevik regime planned to send him to Germany to purchase certain canvas materials for the army. Since he would need assistants, he was authorized to select persons with whom he was personally acquainted and whom he deemed competent. He therefore counseled me to give up my post at the Tsentro-Pechat and work with him instead. I assented tentatively but inquired whether it would be permissible to bring my family along. To this he replied that, while on the first journey only men would go, it was probable that, after contact had been established, some of them would have to remain for a considerable time and it would then be possible to bring along one’s family.
The proposition had much to recommend it to me. What I had hoped to find had presented itself unexpectedly. I promised to try to obtain release from the Tsentro-Pechat, deeming it imprudent to mention at that time that I had already resigned, and promised to give him an answer in a day or two. From there, I went to the Literary Club, a rendezvous for authors, poets, painters and artists in general. Thanks to the Tsentro-Pechat, I had a permanent card of admission. One could always count on a glass of tea and modest refreshments there. In addition, the artists present would generally stage a skit or two or there would be singing or instrumental music. The Club was constantly packed and the Muses always found a warm welcome there.
On entering, I ran into several acquaintances, among them a Bolshevik whom I had known in Chicago and with whom I maintained friendly relations which continued when we both came to the Soviet Union. When I sat down at his table, he told me he had looked for me at the Tsentro-Pechat and wanted me to guess who had come back to Moscow and was anxious to see me. I declined to play guessing games and he finally told me it was Krasnachakov, who had returned this week before from Siberia. I had known krasnachakov in Chicago and, if memory serves me correctly, he had originally been active in the anarchist movement in Bialystok. When he came to the United States, he completed a law course and had participated actively in the socialist movement. In 1915 or 1916, Alexander Berkman came to Chicago and the local group organized a welcome for him. Since a large attendance was expected, the Jewish Institute, a philanthropic agency, was engaged for the event. However, only two days before the event, we were told that we could not have the Institute. Although all arrangements had been made and announcements sent out, the committee was obligated to find a new place and send out new notices. When the audience – quite a large crowd – assembled, it was informed what had happened and as a result, a protest resolution was adopted, calling on the Socialist and radical Jewish elements to boycott the Jewish Institute. With this resolution was coupled a decision for us to construct our own Labor Institute. It was in this effort that Krasnachakov-Tabunson (his adopted name in the United States) distinguished himself.
He had returned to Russia immediately after the October revolution and had at once become a Bolshevik. When Lenin, Trotsky and the other Communist leaders wanted to check the impending drive of the Japanese to seize a portion of Siberia, Lenin organized a “Siberian Free Republic,” which was supposed to demonstrate to the United States and the world at large that this new “republic” was free of Bolshevik domination. The effort succeeded to some extent and the Japanese attempt was checkmated. It is something of a mystery to me how Krasnachakov became the President of this Siberian Republic. At any rate, when I went to call on him at his hotel the following day, his secretary advised me that his superior could not be disturbed for a couple of hours and locked the door.
When I was finally admitted to his office, he brought out a bottle of excellent whiskey and some cookies to go with it.. After we had had a sip or two, Krasnachakov expressed his interest in the fate of our comrades and in how the Bolsheviks were treating them. He had been in Siberia for most of his time since coming to Russia and was not abreast of the latest developments. For a time I was at a loss as to what to say. After all he was President of the “Siberian Republic,” though in reality he was a subordinate of the Moscow Bolsheviks. On the other hand, I knew him to be an honorable comrade and finally decided to relate to him the whole bitter truth about our comrades held in the Moscow prisons and about the rumors of plans to remove them to the Solovesky Islands.
We conversed until late into the night and when I was about to leave, he informed me that he had brought with him a carload of provisions and told me that if I came the next day with a few of my comrades, he would dictate an order for us to receive a generous supply of produce for our imprisoned comrades. I called on him several times and he finally also agreed to procure some warm garments for the prisoners. It goes without saying that the day following my first visit we were in possession of a wagon loaded with all kinds of edibles for the prisoners and, shortly afterwards, a good supply of heavy winter garments.
I hesitated to ask him whether he knew that he was about to be deposed from his post as President, but that is exactly what happened. The old-time, entrenched Bolsheviks resented the fact that a “parvenu”Bolshevik was occupying such a high post. Intrigues and slanders reaching the ears of higher-ups, finally induced Lenin to dismiss Krasnachakov. Shortly thereafter he was executed, liquidated as a “counter-revolutionary,” because he had the effrontery to occupy a post that should more “properly” have been filled by a veteran Bolshevik!
I went back to my friend’s home two days later, as promised, and informed him that I had resigned my post at the Tsentro-Pechat and was prepared to accept his offer of a position, which pleased him. He immediately telephoned the hotel reserved for foreign guests to set aside a room for me, and, as if by magic, a room was mine in a matter of two hours. Thus I again seemed to find myself outside of the grim economic situation of the Soviet regime. This was a European-style luxury hotel and porters readily carried my luggage to the room, which was amazingly clean. For dinner I enjoyed the thrill of entering a regular dining room at which each table was attended by two waiters. The food was so ample and satisfying that it was difficult to believe that outside of this hotel the huge mass of the Russian people were suffering from dire hunger.
The following day, my friend called on me at the hotel and took me to a nationalized store where I was outfitted in new clothes from head to foot, even being treated to two new suitcases. Overnight I had become something of a “dude.” But one thought still continued to haunt me: would I succeed in freeing my family from this nightmare where time and circumstances had created such an intolerable situation?
Two days later I was informed that we were leaving for Leningrad and from there we would go on to Germany. Two other assistants accompanied us. An automobile came to take us to the station, where we met our friend, who distributed the tickets, with a pass for a compartment for each two persons. When we reached Leningrad, two autos were waiting to conduct us to the “International House.” This was a hotel similar to the one I had been staying at in Moscow. After we had settled down in our rooms, my friend told us it would require about two weeks before all arrangements could be completed for our trip to Germany and meanwhile I was to rest and have no worries. He did not suspect how desperately anxious I was to get away from Russia with my family; to leave the land where the bright light of a just social order had flickered and died out.
In Leningrad, following the Kronstadt uprising, there were a number of comrades who were living there in a semi-legal status. I had with me several of their addresses and decided to pay them a visit. A meeting of the entire Leningrad group was to be called, but it had to be clandestine, since as a result of the Kronstadt mutiny no public assemblies were permitted. It was thus that a substantial number of our comrades congregated one sunny Sunday afternoon. I reported on the situation in the cities I had visited and particularly on the situation of our imprisoned comrades. Here the members of our movement were looking for an answer to the question of why so widespread a movement as ours was so lacking in fundamental literature to satisfy the demands of the working masses. It was sadly recalled how we had formerly boasted numerous branches in many cities, besides the formidable partisan armies of Makhno, and now all this was being deliberately ground to dust by the Bolshevik regime which did not have the support of the great majority of the masses. The quest for an answer to this question absorbed our deliberations until late that night. The heated discussions again reinforced my conviction that, while the anarchist movement possessed a great potential, physically and intellectually, for charting the course of the Russian social revolution, it was still steeped in the illusions of ideological romanticism. Here, among these troubled comrades, I dared raise the issue of whether anarchism was doomed to remain a romantic mirage, or whether it was possible for the anarchist ideal to be coupled with constructive realism, as was the case with our experiment in Novorossiysk, and with Makhno’s partisan army.
My challenge gave pause to the assembled comrades, and I became more convinced than ever that the international anarchist movement must find an answer and begin to tread new paths. In the course of two gatherings my comrades conducted during my stay in Leningrad, a number of comrades perceived the implications of my challenge and many openly acknowledged the grievous error which the anarchist movement in Russian had committed.
But at this point my dream that we might be able to get out of Russian easily came to an end. One day, during the third week of our stay in Leningrad, my sponsor entered my room and I immediately saw, from the expression on his face, that something was amiss. There was indeed, for he informed me that our mission had been cancelled. We would receive a month’s pay and our return trip to Moscow would be paid. The following day I was on my way back to the metropolis. A few days later, I visited our comrades, then assembled my personal effects and set out for Novorossiysk, not knowing what might await me there.
The two assemblies in Leningrad and the problem of the vast number of our comrades languishing in Moscow prisons combined to produce a heavy, almost melancholy effect on me, since I could see no light at the end of the tunnel. It was in this state of mental depression that I arrived again in the city which not so long ago had been so ripe with hope and expectations.