Create a Mass Party!

Cliff Connolly critiques CounterPower’s vision of the “party of autonomy” and offers an alternative vision of the mass party. 

In Praise of Communism by Ronald Paris, sourced from here.

The US left is at a critical juncture where the structure and focus of our organizations will soon be decided. On the one hand, we positively have ongoing processes of cohesion in play with DSA chapters collaborating on writing a national platform and far-flung sects coming together under the banner of Marxist Center. On the other hand, we have many comrades across ideological lines who still echo opposition to the idea of a tightly structured national organization. Central to this contradiction is the question of the party: should socialists strive to build an independent political party, and if so, what should that look like? CounterPower has put forth one possible answer in their article Create Two, Three, Many Parties of Autonomy! They are dedicated organizers and we should all be glad to have them in our midst. However, their strategy of eschewing the mass party model and encouraging the spontaneous formation of multiple “parties of autonomy”, and counting on these disparate groups to unite into an “area of the party”, is unworkable in the long term.

Their argument for the many parties strategy rests on a number of errorshistorical misrepresentation (no, CPUSA was not a party of autonomy), uncritical acceptance of failed models (Autonomia Operaia gives us more negative lessons than positive ones), an over-reliance on spontaneity (movements have to be built intentionally), an aversion to leadership (no, it doesn’t automatically create unaccountable bureaucracy), and a confusion of terms (putting anarchist and Marxist vocab words together does not solve the contradictions between them). We will explore each of these points in greater detail. There is also an implicit assumption of false dichotomies built into the many parties lineeither we build parties of autonomy or slip into sectarianism, either parties of autonomy or dogmatism, either parties of autonomy or top-down bureaucracy. There is a kernel of truth present here; we certainly don’t want a dictatorship of paid staffers. However, parties of autonomy are not a solution to this problem in some ways, they would exacerbate the problem.

This was initially written in response to CounterPower’s original essay in 2019, but has since been amended to include dialogue with the updated version published in 2020. The differences between the two are significant and raise new concerns about the many parties model. The most interesting addition in the update concerns the role of cadre highly trained organizers dedicated full-time to party activity. While we agree wholeheartedly on the necessity of these professional revolutionaries, there is a difference of emphasis that merits debate. This issue will be explored in greater detail below.

That CounterPower started this conversation on the party question is a gift to the whole of the US leftit must be addressed for our organizations to move forward. While many of us vehemently disagree with their conclusions, we should be grateful for their company. After examining each piece of their argument for the many parties model and taking note of its shortcomings, we will investigate a viable alternativea mass party of organizers built on the principles of struggle, pluralism, and democratic discipline. 

Historical Clarification

There are a number of historical errors throughout CounterPower’s article. By this we are not referring to a difference of opinion about a certain historical figure’s thought process or the motivations behind a particular decision, but rather factual inaccuracies. This in itself does not mean the thesis of the article is automatically false, but it does betray a dependency on unfounded assumptions. First, there is the assertion that the Russian soviets arose organically without being built by socialists, at which point the Bolsheviks joined them and worked harmoniously with other autonomous parties in this “area of the party” to link the soviets to other sites of struggle. Second, there is the quotation from Mao Zedong’s 1957 Hundred Flowers speech, which CounterPower uses to bolster their argument for parties of autonomy. Finally, we are led to believe that both the FAI and the Alabama chapter of the Communist Party USA are exemplars of the many parties model. 

We will begin with the relationship between the Bolsheviks and the soviets. Here is CounterPower’s characterization:

“The organized interventions of a revolutionary party thus take place ‘in the middle,’ as mediations between the micropolitical and macropolitical. This has been a distinguishing feature of successful revolutionary parties, as in the example of the Russian Revolution of 1917, when clusters of Bolshevik party activists concentrated in workplaces, recognizing that the participatory councils (soviets) emerging from grassroots proletarian struggles embodied the nucleus of an alternative social system. Thus the party’s organization at the point of production enabled revolutionaries first to link workplace struggles against exploitation with the struggle against imperialism, and then to link the emergent councils with the insurrectionary struggle to establish a system of territorial counterpower”.

On the contrary, it is of utmost importance to recognize that the soviets, factory committees, and militias that formed the backbone of the Russian revolution were built intentionally by socialists. While different factions in the Russian Social Democratic Workers’ Party eventually split into separate organizations as the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks, both groups were instrumental in the creation of these mass organizations. They did not emerge organically from economic struggles with bosses and feudal landlords like some of the trade unions and peasant associations, but instead were the product of a socialist intervention in economic struggles which emphasized the need for political organization. This strategy, commonly referred to as the “merger formula”, was theorized by Marx and Engels, popularized by the German socialist party leader Karl Kautsky, and accepted by Russian socialists of all stripes (most notably Lenin).1

The Bolsheviks did not merely help workers build their fighting organizations. They also competed with political rivals for leadership in them. Beyond their efforts that we would call “base-building” today, the Bolsheviks also invested significant resources into propaganda efforts and electoral contests. The struggle for elected majorities in the soviets in 1917 was pursued in tandem with a strategy of running campaigns for municipal offices and the Constituent Assembly (the bourgeois parliament of the Provisional Government), and it worked. The Bolshevik candidates for the assembly were able to publicly oppose the policies of the Provisional Government, while the elected deputies in the soviets were able to win over the working class to the task of seizing political power. These electoral efforts were instrumental in establishing a democratic mandate for the October Revolution.2 Consider these words from leading Bolshevik (and later leading opposition member purged by Stalin) Alexander Shliapnikov, in 1920:

The Russian Communist Party (RKP), as the history of the preceding years indicates, is the only revolutionary party of the Working Class, leading class war and civil war in the name of Communism. The R.K.P. unifying the more conscious and decisive part of the Proletariat around the Revolutionary Communist Program of action and drawing to the Communist banner the more leading elements of the rural poor, must concentrate all higher leadership of communist construction and the general direction of policy of the country.

Clearly, the Bolsheviks did not consider themselves a “party of autonomy” working side by side with the Menshevik reformists in a broad “area of the party”. Nor did they simply fuse with organic economic struggles in the trade unions. The reality couldn’t be further from CounterPower’s insinuations: the Bolsheviks were a party of political organizers who started as a minority and slowly won over sections of the working class through diligent mass work and bitter struggle with the other parties of the day. By engaging in this process, they eventually took on a mass character and became capable of leading social revolution. The lesson to learn from the Bolsheviks is this: we must win political hegemony in whatever independent organs of proletarian power that we help build, using every available means, including running opposition candidates in bourgeois elections to expose broader sections of the class to our ideas.

Now we will consider Mao’s echoing of the old Chinese proverb “Let a hundred flowers blossom, let a hundred schools of thought contend.” This line of poetry is used by CounterPower to demonstrate the need for dozens of independent communist grouplets to form and collaborate on the task of social revolution. They attribute the quote to Mao, but is this how he used it? The short answer is no. It comes from a speech he gave in March 1957 at the Chinese Communist Party’s National Conference on Propaganda Work. It is true that he called for a hundred schools of thought to contend, but this was in the context of winning unaligned intellectuals over to the party’s socialist ideals. He gave a thoughtful and nuanced analysis of how the party could accept criticism from the broader population without sacrificing their legitimacy as the ruling organization of the country:

Ours is a great Party, a glorious Party, a correct Party. This must be affirmed as a fact. But we still have shortcomings, and this, too, must be affirmed as a fact…Will it undermine our Party’s prestige if we criticize our own subjectivism, bureaucracy and sectarianism? I think not. On the contrary, it will serve to enhance the Party’s prestige. This was borne out by the rectification movement during the anti-Japanese war. It enhanced the prestige of our Party, of our Party comrades and our veteran cadres, and it also enabled the new cadres to make great progress. Which of the two was afraid of criticism, the Communist Party or the Kuomintang? The Kuomintang. It prohibited criticism, but that did not save it from final defeat. The Communist Party does not fear criticism because we are Marxists, the truth is on our side, and the basic masses, the workers and peasants, are on our side.

Clearly, in March 1957 Mao was concerned with building a mass party, not opening space for a loose collaboration between multiple parties aimed at building socialism. Unfortunately, the Chinese Communist Party was underprepared for the criticism they would soon face and reversed the Hundred Flowers Campaign. By July of that same year, the Anti-Rightist Campaign brought a series of purges underway, which got so out of control that Mao had to restrain his subordinates from excess killing. Perhaps Chinese conditions in 1957 were different enough from American conditions in 2020 that this was acceptable, or perhaps Mao the statesman should not be looked to for inspiration as much as Mao the general or Mao the revolutionary. It is beyond the purview of this article to answer that question. What is certain CounterPower draws the wrong lesson out of Mao’s 1957 speech.

Demonstration from the Hundred Flowers Movement

After quoting Mao, CounterPower moves on to claim that the Iberian Anarchist Federation (FAI) is in practice a party of autonomy working within the “area of the party” of Spain’s National Confederation of Labour (CNT). Although the idea of “parties of autonomy” was not formulated until forty years after FAI’s founding, there may be a kernel of truth to this claim. For example, if FAI formed a loose coalition with CNT organizers and worked with them on shared projects, this argument could make sense. The reality, however, is that FAI is essentially a hard-line anarchist faction within CNT that has consistently fought for political hegemony within the broader organization and even purged ideological rivals like Ángel Pestaña. Perhaps they were right to do so; it is outside the scope of this article to pass judgment on the internal political conflicts of the CNT. 

Despite CounterPower’s framing of the FAI as an independent anarcho-communist organization with an “organic link” to the CNT, they are an explicitly anarchist faction struggling to dominate the politics of the Spanish labor movement. They act as a pressure group within the confederation to make CNT adhere to what they perceive as purely anarchist theory and praxis without deviation. This is not a “symbiotic relationship”, it is realpolitik under a black flag. Roberto Bordiga’s window dressing cannot give us a clear understanding of Spanish labor politics; historians like José Peirats and Paul Preston would be better suited to aid this investigation. 

In the updated version of their essay, CounterPower cites the Alabama chapter of CPUSA as a historical example that serves to “elucidate the role and function of a party of autonomy”. This could not be further from the truth. Similar to the FAI, the party of autonomy model would not even be theorized until fifty years after the Alabama chapter’s founding. CPUSA was a mass party with local chapters all over the country for at least the first half of the twentieth century. The Alabama chapter in particular was the result of discussions on “the Negro question” at the Sixth World Congress of the Communist International, after which the Central Committee of CPUSA chose Birmingham as a headquarters for its foothold in the South.3 Its success in organizing rural and urban communities in the deep south of the 1920s is proof that the mass party model can be adapted to regional conditions and accountable to local rank and file members. Describing this centralized party model as a “party of autonomy” is categorically false.

Spontaneity vs. Base-Building

Now that the historical context of CounterPower’s narrative has been clarified, we should examine the contradiction between their ideological commitment to spontaneity theory on the one hand, and their practical commitment to base-building on the other. Does the working class organically form explicitly political fighting organizations, or is a socialist intervention required for this to occur? This is a never-ending debate between Marxists and anarchists, despite the pile of evidence pointing to the latter. Some would argue that this debate is pointless at the present moment, and these differences are best put aside until the workers’ movement has grown. We would reply: “First, comradely debate in no way hampers unity of action. We can continue base-building efforts while disagreeing on political questions, and it is only through debate that we might one day get on the same page. Second, simply by engaging in the act of base-building with us, you are agreeing with our point in practice while denying it in theory.” How is this possible?

Our comrades in CounterPower are the perfect example. They admit the masses will not come to accept communist ideas on their own:

From strike committees to workers’ councils, tenant unions to neighborhood assemblies, the disparate forms of organized autonomy that arise in the midst of a protracted revolutionary struggle will not automatically fuse with communist politics to create a cohesive system of counterpower.

Yet they don’t address where these councils and unions come from. The reader gets the sense that these organizations simply pop up during times of crisis, as workers get frustrated with bourgeois politics and independently come to the conclusion that they need to organize against their boss or landlord. This may be true in a minority of cases, but most proletarian fighting organizations come from the same source as the Russian soviets: dedicated socialist base-builders. Who built Amazonians United? Who built Autonomous Tenant Union Network? Who built UE, ILWU, and the original CIO? In every case, the answer is: workers and intellectuals who read Marx, became socialists, and decided to organize.

Our responsibilities go beyond just founding these mass organizations; we have to compete for hegemony within them as well. If we neglect this crucial aspect of organizing due to a fetishization of the autonomy of the masses, reformists and even reactionaries will gladly fill the gap. In the case of something like workers’ councils, we cannot have any illusions that they provide anything beyond a means of representation for political tendencies within the movement. This is precisely why the Bolsheviks competed so vigorously with the reformist Mensheviks and populist Social Revolutionaries for elected majorities in the soviets. In fact, the Bolsheviks only adopted their famous slogan “All Power to the Soviets” after they had secured elected majorities in them.4 We only need to look at the difference between the Soviet Republics established in Russia and the brutally crushed Soviet Republic of Bavaria to understand the limitations of the model. Without influence from committed revolutionaries, mass organizations can be rallied to the banner of class-collaboration (as the Russian soviets were before Bolshevik intervention) or adventurism (as in the case of Bavaria).5

CounterPower’s overestimation of proletarian spontaneity has practical consequences for its members. In his recent article In Defense of Revolution and the Insurrectionary Commune, Atlee McFellin analyzed the November 2020 election and drew parallels between it and the situation which produced the Paris Commune. Fearing that elections may never take place again, McFellin argued against any participation in electoral efforts (including, but not limited to the creation of a political party independent from the Democrats). What was proposed instead? “Self-defense forces, solidarity kitchens, and everything else that is required to repel fascist assaults”. In other words, anything but a class-independent party capable of coordinating the struggle for socialism across different political, economic, and social fronts. Rather than face the reality of the radical left’s current irrelevance in national politics and the labor movement, and chart a course to resolve this, comrade McFellin called for the construction of insurrectionary communes as a response to the consolidation of ruling class interests under Joe Biden. Whether the working class has the spontaneous energy necessary for this task remains to be seen;  if it does, we would be ill-advised to hold our breath in anticipation but should wince at the inevitable brutal consequences if such adventurism bears fruit.

While in theory, CounterPower glosses over the role of communists in building workers’ organizations, in practice they are engaged in precisely this work. Rather than relying on the spontaneous initiative of the masses, they actively build tenant and labor unions, political education circles, and other necessary vehicles of class struggle. In fact, they do it remarkably well. This is what makes the claim that communists must “fuse with grassroots organizations” after they appear rather than actively building them in the first place so bizarre. Ultimately, our task as communists is to build mass organizations of class struggle, and then rally the most active participants within them to a mass communist party. By uniting in one party, we can direct the efforts of thousands of organizers according to a commonly agreed upon plan, which is an absolute necessity for the workers’ movement to grow. 

The Role of Cadre

The discussion of cadre organizers is given new attention in CounterPower’s update to their original essay. It mostly focuses on the role these committed party members play in shaping revolutionary strategy and connecting it to active proletarian struggles. As seen in my Cosmonaut article Revolutionary Discipline and Sobriety, those of us who favor the mass party model are in complete agreement with CounterPower on the importance of cadre:

Any collective project, whether a revolutionary labor union or a church’s food pantry, will expect a higher degree of involvement from its core organizers than from its regular members. Not everyone has the time or the technical skills needed to bottom-line such endeavors, and those who do have a responsibility to step up to the plate. These small groups, or cadre, are the powerhouse of the class. Taking direction from the masses they live and labor with, cadre members should focus their lives on facilitating the self-emancipation of the proletariat.

CounterPower rightly points out that these dedicated full-timers are a prerequisite for the development of robust internal political education, external agitation, and consistent recruitment to mass work projects. Key to the every-day functioning of these cadre groups is the organizational center to which they are accountable (and preferably subject to democratic discipline by the whole membership of the organization). While the mass party shares the party of autonomy’s commitment to a common political platform and program, the main difference between the two models is one of scope. Whereas the “area of the party” is composed of diffuse autonomous organizations with separate and often contradictory programs, the local chapters of the mass party work together on a common, democratically agreed-upon plan. As the experience of the Alabama chapter of CPUSA shows, this does not mean the plan cannot be adapted to meet local concerns. 

CPUSA demo in the south

In fact, the mass party model historically proves more capable of achieving its aims than any other method of party organization, whether it is compared to the bourgeois fund-raising parties that dominate US politics or the Italian autonomist model revived by CounterPower. This will be elaborated below in our examination of the Autonomia Operaia movement. For now, suffice it to say that while we agree with our autonomist comrades on the importance of cadre, the mass party model is best suited to coordinate their efforts.

Precision of Terms

Further complicating the problems of CounterPower’s revolutionary strategy is an incoherent collection of opaque and often contradictory terms. Few throughout history have tried to synthesize the theories of the Bolsheviks, Rosa Luxemburg, Bordiga, and Malatesta, mostly because it makes no sense to do so. This blend of anarchist shibboleths (affinity groups, autonomy fetishism, Bookchin references) and communist vocabulary (party cadre, collective discipline, professional revolutionaries) is neither an oversight nor the product of genuine cross-ideological left unity. CounterPower is a Marxist organization with a niche ideology informed mainly by the experience of the Italian Autonomia Operaia movement. The fact that they mask this behind an appeal to every possible leftist tendency is frankly dishonest, and makes their writing difficult to follow. Since all these ideas have been presented to us as complementary and harmonious, we must investigate the contradictions between them in order to get a clearer picture. 

First, we should consider their framing of the ideas of Luxemburg:

In contrast to a bourgeois party, Rosa Luxemburg identified that a revolutionary party of autonomy ‘is not a party that wants to rise to power over the mass of workers or through them.’ Rather, it ‘is only the most conscious, purposeful part of the proletariat, which points the entire broad mass of the working class toward its historical tasks at every step”

The primary issue with this framing is that Rosa Luxemburg did not write or speak about “a revolutionary party of autonomy” at any point in her political career. She was a member of the Social Democratic Party of Germany (SPD) for most of her life before its left-wing split into the USPD and then Spartacist League (later renamed the Communist Party of Germany, or KPD). Both organizations were mass parties who explicitly intended to lead the working class to overthrow the existing political order and form a new proletarian government in Germany, headed by elected party officials. Her point about the party being an instrument that puts the working class in power was perfectly in line with the existing Marxist orthodoxy. Consider this quote from the SPD’s leading theorist Karl Kautsky for comparison:

The socialists no longer have the task of freely inventing a new society but rather uncovering its elements in existing society. No more do they have to bring salvation from its misery to the proletariat from above, but rather they have to support its class struggle through increasing its insight and promoting its economic and political organizations and in so doing bring about as quickly as possible the day when the proletariat will be able to save itself. The task of Social Democracy is to make the class struggle of the proletariat aware of its aim and capable of choosing the best means to attain this aim.6

Luxemburg and Kautsky both demonstrate the function of the mass party: cohering the most militant and forward-thinking section of the working class into one organization and giving it the tools to win political power. If the party is not “outside or above the revolutionary process”, as CounterPower puts it, then it is coming to power through class leadership. “Providing the boldest elements in decision-making organs” is just a milder way of phrasing “winning political hegemony in the movement.” While it is right to be skeptical of potential opportunists and wary of inadvertently creating an unaccountable bureaucracy, CounterPower overcorrects by trying to avoid the question of leadership altogether. No amount of out-of-context quotes from historical revolutionaries can paper over that deficiency. 

After painting an anarchist portrait of Rosa Luxemburg, CounterPower then calls upon the theoretical authority of actual anarchist Errico Malatesta:

We anarchists can all say that we are of the same party, if by the word ‘party’ we mean all who are on the same side, that is, who share the same general aspirations and who, in one way or another, struggle for the same ends against common adversaries and enemies. But this does not mean it is possibleor even desirablefor all of us to be gathered into one specific association. There are too many differences of environment and conditions of struggle; too many possible ways of action to choose among, and also too many differences of temperament and personal incompatibilities for a General Union, if taken seriously, not to become, instead of a means for coordinating and reviewing the efforts of all, an obstacle to individual activity and perhaps also a cause of more bitter internal strife.7

This is a markedly different approach to organization from the mass party model of Kautsky, Luxemburg, Lenin, et al. It is certainly more in line with the autonomists’ “area of the party” theory, but are the assumptions it is based on sound? The experience of the Bolshevik party securing state power and defending the proletariat from white terror, the Communist Party of Vietnam’s triumph over colonialism, the continued resistance to neoliberal imperialism in Cuba, and other achievements of the mass party model seem to indicate otherwise. Petty personal disputes and geographic distance are no excuse to abandon unified efforts to build socialism. If we take a scientific approach and compare the results of party-building trials throughout history to the results of those like Malatesta who deny the party’s role, the pattern is self-evident. 

Lessons of History

CounterPower’s essay does an excellent job of considering the experiences of a vast number of different historical communist groups. Unfortunately, they do so without an ounce of reflection or criticism. They ask us to look at rival groups with opposing political strategies and conclude that both were right, regardless of whether either group actually achieved its aims. They mention the experience of many parties and movementsthe KAPD in Germany, Autonomia Operaia in Italy, the MIR in Chile, the FMLN-FDR in El Salvador, the URNG in Guatemala, the HBDH in Turkey and Kurdistan, and more. We’re given the impression that each of these groups consciously agreed with the autonomists’ many parties model, and that each of these groups were successful enough to teach us mainly positive lessons to emulate. Upon closer inspection, it turns out this is not at all the case. For the sake of brevity, we will look at three examples.

Let us begin with the Communist Workers’ Party of Germany (KAPD). This party could be accurately described as a sect based on its low membership, extreme sectarianism, and history of splits. Its complicated lineage is as followsits members began in the SPD, then split into the ISD, which then joined the USPD, which then split into the KPD, and then finally split from there into the left-communist KAPD. It functionally existed for about two years before splitting again into separate factions. It was quite literally a split of a split of a split that ended up splitting. It had around 43,000 members at its height in 1921, which was minuscule compared to the hundreds of thousands of workers in the mass parties (and that number immediately declined after the factional split in 1922). 

The roots of the KAPD’s separation from the KPD lie in the events of the Ruhr Uprising. In 1920, a right-wing coalition of military officers and monarchists attempted to overthrow the bourgeois-democratic government of Germany. In response, the government called for a general strike, which the workers’ parties heeded. In the Ruhr valley, these parties took the strike a step further by forming Red Army units and engaging right-wing forces in open combat. However, these socialist militias were divided between three different parties and could not coordinate their efforts as well as their enemies who had the benefit of a clear leadership structure. The uprising was ultimately crushed when the bourgeois government made a deal with the right-wing putsch leaders and sent their forces to slaughter the workers of the Ruhr. 

What lessons did the left-communists learn from this? From their perspective, KPD leaders had given up on the struggle by agreeing to disband Red Army units after the fighting looked to be in the enemy’s favor. Because of this, a split was necessary so the workers could be led by the true communist militants that would see things through to the end. In other words, the already divided proletariat needed a fourth party to further complicate the coordination of future actions. Two years later, this fourth party would then split into two factions. Lenin had this to say about the KAPD:

Let the ‘Lefts’ put themselves to a practical test on a national and international scale. Let them try to prepare for (and then implement) the dictatorship of the proletariat, without a rigorously centralised party with iron discipline, without the ability to become masters of every sphere, every branch, and every variety of political and cultural work. Practical experience will soon teach them.8

Unfortunately, Lenin was overly optimistic. Rather than having time to learn from their mistakes, the divided forces of the working class were brutally crushed by the united forces of the right. The Nazis rose to power, and fascism reigned until the Soviets took Berlin in 1945. This does not mean there is nothing we can learn from the KAPDquite the opposite is true. There may be some diamonds in the rough, but most of the lessons we can learn from the left-communists of Germany are examples of what not to do. Fortunately, in the updated version of their essay, CounterPower scrubbed any mention of the KAPD. Whether this was due to a genuine reassessment of their example or simple editorial limitations, the new version is much stronger without the ill-fated German sectarians. 

Despite their positive appraisal of the KAPD, CounterPower is not a left-communist sect. They are autonomists, and in order to understand their answer to the party question we must take stock of their movement forebears. Autonomia Operaia was a workers’ movement in Italy during the period known as the “Years of Lead”. This period lasted from the late 1960s to the late 1980s, and was marked by violent clashes between right and left-wing paramilitary forces. It is worth noting that much of this violence was either planned, supplied, or encouraged by the CIA and its “Operation Gladio”, although that is not relevant to our discussion here. Autonomia Operaia was mainly active from ‘76 to ‘78, and was made up of many smaller socialist groups including Potere Operaio, Gruppo Gramsci, and Lotta Continua. Each group was strongly opposed to unifying into one party, preferring instead to maintain their autonomy and pursue different tactics to work towards their shared goal of social revolution. 

Autonomia Operaia demo

In the end, this worked out in much the same way as it did for the sectarians in Germany decades earlier. Thousands of militants were arrested, hundreds fled the country, many were killed, and most of those who remained dissolved into terrorist groups like the Red Brigades and parliamentary parties like Democrazia Proletaria. Neither the autonomist terrorists nor the autonomist politicians were able to move beyond the failures of the earlier autonomist movement. In retrospect, the autonomists ended up replicating the sect form (albeit with some anarchist-influenced language) and suffered the familiar consequences of this organizing technique. It is worth noting that after misappropriating numerous mass parties (the Alabama chapter of CPUSA, the Bolsheviks, Rosa Luxemburg’s KPD) as successful examples of the “parties of autonomy” model, CounterPower leaves out any mention of Autonomia Operaia in the updated version of its essay. This is somewhat understandable as the movement collapsed within two years and failed to achieve its aims, but it is still dishonest. If failures are glossed over rather than rigorously examined, we are doomed to walk blindly into past mistakes. In this regard, CounterPower’s update to their essay does more to obfuscate the party question than answer it.

That said, Autonomia Operaia activists had valid criticisms of the Communist Party of Italy and could have created an alternative to lead the proletariat to victory. This is the positive lesson we can learn from them: when the “official” communist party of the nation abandons its principles, it can sometimes be worthwhile to build an alternative organization. However, they chose instead to create a loose collective of semi-aligned communist clusters which failed to coordinate their actions and create meaningful change. Had they taken on the arduous task of debating long-term strategy and forging programmatic unity, things may have turned out differently. This is the primary lesson we should learn from the Italian autonomists: a proletarian victory requires structure, democratic discipline, and unity of action. 

Although not directly influenced by Autonomia’s answer to the party question, the FMLN-FDR of El Salvador could be theorized as an example of an “area of the party”. As CounterPower pointed out in their essay, this network was composed of five revolutionary parties and a number of mass organizations and civil society institutions who worked together in loose cooperation towards revolution. It ultimately failed, and CounterPower makes two interesting claims about its dissolution: that the failure was due primarily to the popular front reformism of the PCS (one of the five member parties) and that its downfall does not tarnish its status as a positive example of the area of the party in action. These claims do not fare well under the spotlight of historical scrutiny, particularly when shined on the brutal internecine violence that destroyed any semblance of unity within the movement by 1983. 

CounterPower’s assessment of the FMLN identifies the PCS (Communist Party of El Salvador) as the weakest link in the chain, and the FPL (Farabundo Martí Liberation People’s Forces) as the strongest. In many ways, this is true, as the popular front strategy of the official communist parties has consistently ended in disaster the world over and the FPL was the most powerful and trusted party in El Salvador for a time. However, this is not the whole picture. Genuine political disagreements were often buried or papered over to maintain an artificial unity, and the ensuing tension was bound to boil over. While our autonomist comrades say the FMLN established a harmonious “mechanism of communication, coordination, and cooperation among the various politico-military organizations”, the reality is far grimmer. In its disagreement with other parties advocating negotiations with the Salvadoran government, the FPL resorted to gruesome assassinations to enforce its will on the rest of the FMLN. In April of 1983, FPL cadre Rogelio Bazzaglia murdered pro-negotiation leader Ana Maria with an ice pick, stabbing her 83 times. Although there was an attempt to blame the CIA or another party within FMLN, when presented concrete evidence of Bazzaglia’s guilt, FPL leader Salvador Cayetano Carpio promptly wrote a suicide note and shot himself in the head. With its most trusted leaders either disgraced, dead, or both, the FMLN lost steam after many members left the network in disgust. Along with this exodus of valuable cadre went all the legitimacy of the anti-negotiation faction, and so by 1989 even successful military offensives could do nothing more than bring the Salvadoran government to the negotiation table.9 The revolutionary potential of the FMLN died with Ana Maria, and her murder demonstrates how the “area of the party” approach only ends up recreating the problems of the sect form.

The Marxist Center

The US communist movement is essentially home to three different camps regarding the party question. Those who wish to see the movement divided into bureaucratic sects (with the belief that their particular sect is the One True Party) are on the right. Those who wish to see the movement divided into loosely aligned autonomist sects (with the beliefs outlined in CounterPower’s writing) are on the left. Those of us in the center are advocating a qualitative break with the sect form: the foundation of a mass party of organizers. This idea is often associated with a number of inaccurate claimsfor instance, we are frequently lumped in with those who wish to replicate the worst aspects of the DSA model, where anyone can join the organization at any time for any reason without even committing to Marxist politics. We are also often accused of wanting to create a dogmatic bureaucracy of staunch Marxist-Leninists who will run the party as they see fit without input from membership. Neither of these claims are true.

In fact, what we desire is a party made and run by the masses themselves. Years of labor-intensive organizing will be necessary to make this happen, as the masses cannot be reached and welcomed into the socialist movement any other way. Tenant and workplace unions, unemployed councils, harm reduction efforts, solidarity networks, and other forms of “mass organizations” (in addition to independent electoral efforts) must be formed and rallied around a common political pole. In order for this pole to exist in the first place, the organizers engaged in mass work must debate and discuss until they articulate and agree on a comprehensive political program. In order for these debates and discussions to produce a clear program, the organizers have to see themselves as part of a common organization aimed at a shared goal. When each of these elements fall into place, something completely unique to the US left will be born: a mass party committed to praxis, programmatic unity, and democratic discipline.

By praxis, we understand a long-term commitment to building, growing, and maintaining the kinds of mass organizations detailed above. By programmatic unity, we mean collective acceptance of a comprehensive set of answers to long-term strategic questions, forged in an extended process of comradely debate and compromise. Ideally, this would take the form of a minimum-maximum program like those laid out and critiqued by Marx, Engels, and others in the first two Internationals.10 The minimum demands are structural reforms that communicate to the working class exactly how our efforts will improve their lives and empower them at the political level. Demands like guaranteed healthcare and housing, eliminating the Electoral College, Senate, and Supreme Court, disbanding the police and forming workers’ militias, ensuring union representation, and more would bring supporters into the fold and give us access to valuable comrades and organizers. They are chosen in such a way that when every demand is met, the proletariat has seized political power from the bourgeoisie and becomes the governing class of society. 

With this done, the new workers’ government can focus on fulfilling the maximum demands, epitomized as communism, which would eradicate the last vestiges of capitalism and transition to a socialist mode of production. Establishing unity on long-term questions of strategy is far superior to enforcing a “party-line” on day-to-day issues and theoretical minutiae. It allows us to collaborate and exert the greatest possible combined strength of the working class in its diverse struggles without splitting over short-term tactical disagreements like “should we partner with this NGO on this tenant organizing project?” or subcultural arguments like “who was in the wrong at Kronstadt?” It also does not require agreement on “tendency” labels (such as Marxist-Leninist, anarchist, left-communist, etc). As our organizations grow, the need for a commonly accepted program will only increase. Finally, by democratic discipline, we refer to the old axiom “diversity of opinion, unity of action”.

These three principles are absolutely essential for the functioning of an effective and battle-ready proletarian party. As we have seen, the organizational forms of sectarians and autonomists (like the KAPD and Autonomia Operaia respectively) crumble under pressure whereas mass parties regularly weather brutal repression. No better example of this can be found in US history than that of the Alabama chapter of the CPUSA:

The fact is, the CP and its auxiliaries in Alabama did have a considerable following, some of whom devoured Marxist literature and dreamed of a socialist world. But to be a Communist, an ILD member, or an SCU militant was to face the possibility of imprisonment, beatings, kidnapping, and even death. And yet the Party survived, and at times thrived, in this thoroughly racist, racially divided, and repressive social world.11

While other cases of this phenomenon (the Russian Communist Party, the Chinese Communist Party, and others) have been historically prone to corruption, preventative measures can be taken to ensure the party retains its mass character even after smashing the state and beginning socialist reconstruction. The most immediate step in this process is the collaborative drafting of and universal agreement on a party-wide Code of Conduct. This will facilitate the development of a comradely culture that balances rigorous critique and debate with an environment of pluralism and interpersonal care. In addition to understanding how to have a one-on-one organizing conversation, we should also strive to be well-versed in skills like listening, openly sharing feelings, assuming good faith in arguments, making sincere apologies, and offering support to comrades struggling with personal issues. None of these can be learned by accident in the alienated social spaces created by capitalism, so we must make a deliberate effort to establish these norms in our organization. 

Another would be taking seriously the moral dimensions of Fidelismo’s contribution to Marxism. In stark contrast with both Stalin’s iron fist and Allende’s naive pacifism, Fidel Castro’s leadership of the Cuban revolution combined violent insurrection against the state with peaceful political maneuvering in the revolutionary movement. Over the course of protracted struggle on both fronts, the July 26th Movement was able to defeat the state militarily and construct a democratic mandate for political hegemony. Because Fidel and his comrades took the ethical implications of revolutionary struggle seriously, they were able to achieve victory without recourse to war crimes against the enemy or lethal violence against political competitors within the movement.12 This commitment to moral conduct during violent struggle did not stop them from winning the war. In fact, it allowed them to win the peace. This strategy allowed Cuba to begin building socialism after national liberation without the deadly internecine conflicts that plagued other revolutionary movements (notably including the FMLN). It is crucial that we embrace this legacy by constructing an ethic of revolution for our time. More steps beyond these will of course be necessary, and their exact nature will become clear as we work towards the realization of a comradely culture together.

Perhaps the strongest indicator of the need for a mass party is the fact that the most advanced sections of the US labor movement are already calling for the establishment of a workers’ party. In its recent pamphlet Them and Us Unionism, United Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers of America (UE) wrote:

Throughout our history, UE has held that workers need our own political party. In the 1990s, UE worked with a number of other unions to found the Labor Party, under the slogan ‘The Bosses Have Two Parties, We Need One of Our Own.’ Although the Labor Party experiment was ultimately unsuccessful, UE members and locals have been active in numerous other efforts to promote independent, pro-worker alternatives to the two major parties.13

Other labor unions like ILWU and the Teamsters have produced leading organizers who share UE’s commitment to independent worker politics. People like Clarence Thomas, who helped organize the Juneteenth port shutdown on the West Coast earlier this year in solidarity with the George Floyd uprising, Chris Silvera, who chairs the National Black Caucus in the Teamsters, and many more can be found among them. These influential voices of the labor movement have united in Labor and Community for an Independent Party, stating:

We must build democratically run coalitions that bring together the stakeholders in labor and the communities of the oppressed, so that they have a decisive say in formulating their demands and mapping out a strategy. Most important, we need to put an end to the monopoly of political power by the Democrats and Republicans. The labor movement and the leaders of the Latino and Black struggles need to break with their reliance on the Democratic Party and build their own mass-based independent working-class political party.

While it is certainly possible that these efforts could lead to the establishment of a reformist labor party, it is precisely this possibility that behooves us to get involved. Any union that recognizes the need for independent proletarian political action outside the shop floor can be considered “advanced” compared to business unions aligned with the Democratic Party, and relationships with them should be built as part of a communist intervention in the labor movement. As Marxists, we have a duty not only to organize our class but to bring theoretical clarity to its most active champions. If we continue building strong proletarian fighting organizations and elaborate our vision in a comprehensive program, we will be positioned to guide labor and community leaders of all stripes to the creation of a truly communist political party.

Ultimately, the disparate sects within Marxist Center and the local chapters of the DSA must form tighter bonds and consider internal reforms that would allow us to build the party our class requires. In doing so, we should seek to unite as many far-flung collectives and mass work projects as we can in order to become a true threat to bourgeois hegemony. While staying divided in a loose federation may seem like a viable model to some, history shows that it is not. The autonomists and anarchists in our ranks are dedicated organizers doing valuable work, and we should be grateful for that. However, we would be doing ourselves and them a disservice if we did not offer a comradely critique of their organizational models. 

Communists will always find strength in unity.

“Going Back or Moving Forward” & “Speech to the 8th CPSU(B) Congress” by N. Osinsky

Translations by Mark Alexandrovich, introduction by Mark Alexandrovich and Renato Flores. 

Depiction of Council of People’s Commissar, or Sovnarkom.

Osinsky is the pseudonym of old Bolshevik Valerian Valerianovich Obolensky. Born in 1887, Osinsky is an often forgotten but very influential Bolshevik and theoretician. He started off on the left-wing of the Bolsheviks, being active around the journal Kommunist. After the revolution, he became chairperson of the Supreme Soviet of the National Economy but lost that position due to his opposition to the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. He was elected in 1919 as a delegate to the founding congress of the Communist International, and in this same year became part of the oppositional tendency, or unofficial faction of the Democratic Centralists, alongside other figures such as Sapronov and Smirnov. 

The Democratic Centralists, or Deceists, were a tendency within the Bolshevik party who came together on the basis of attempting to reform the organizational structures of the nascent Soviet state. In particular, they questioned the existing relationship between the party and the state, which they saw as inefficient and undemocratic. They were concerned with the proliferation of unresponsive bureaucracy due to either excessive centralization, duplication, or triplication of roles that were supposed to deal with the same competencies. They also heavily opposed the encroaching militarism of the government which was caused by the civil war. They realized that this was demobilizing the workers and disenchanting them from the idea that the Soviet government was their own. During the brief time during which they were active, they pushed for more debate, and more collegiality at all levels, proposing new ways of running the government. They became moribund after the 10th Communist Party Congress, which alongside approving most of their demands, also approved the temporal ban on factions. 

Below, we present two texts from Osinsky which have never been available in English: an article from Pravda in January 1919, and a speech from the 8th Communist Party Congress. The former text’s original scan is unreadable in places in the digital scans, so if anyone has or knows of a complete copy we invite them to make it available to us. This text is meant for a more popular audience, even if some sentences are long and convoluted. If some passages are confusing in English, they are like that in the original Russian, too. The translator tried to make it clearer where possible. Osinsky’s language is also old fashioned, even for 1919. This could either have been the way he wrote or purposeful use of old fashioned, peasant language for his audience. The second text’s source was much clearer as the proceedings from the 8th Communist Party Congress are fully available in digital format. This text also does not have the old-fashioned language and is overall an easier read. 

Osinsky was one of the most prominent members of the Demcents. These texts we present are an important exhibit of the type of diagnosis and reforms proposed by the Deceists in order to improve Soviet democracy and make it a true government of the people. Like many of their contemporaries (such as Krupskaya), the critiques from the Deceists were constructive and presented as resolutions with actionable points in the congresses of the Communist Party. We present this text with two intentions. First, to show the vibrancy and depth of Bolshevik debates in general; unfortunately, in modern-day “common-sense” historiography the struggle is too often reduced to the two poles of Stalin and Trotsky, forgetting everyone and everything else constituting Soviet life and government. This text from 1920 is prior to Trotsky’s critiques of bureaucratization in 1923, and in many ways opposes Trotsky’s politics at the time of the text regarding the militarization of the state. Second, this text clearly shows that the Bolsheviks realized quite early that forming a workers state was not going to be as easy as expected, and that the tasks of government and the articulation between Party and State, and between centralization and decentralization, were extremely complex. In this context, the diagnostics and resolutions of Osinsky, although opposed by Lenin and heavily voted down in the 8th Congress, are crucial for understanding the development of the Soviet government. 

Osinsky, alongside many Deceists, would later sign the Declaration of 46 in 1923, a communique to the Central Committee which asked for urgent reforms to solve the increasingly aggravated problems of government malfunction. The Deceists would end up fracturing, with many (including Osinsky) joining the Left Opposition. Some Deceists like Sapronov and Smirnov would end up expelled from the party, going as far as characterizing the USSR as state capitalist and unworthy of defense. Osinsky would end up aligned with Bukharin’s views on the peasantry, and served as Professor of the Agricultural Academy of Moscow. With the downfall of Bukharin, his protection disappeared. Like many Old Bolsheviks, Osinsky would be executed during the Purges, on the first of September 1938. However, the issues and problems that Osinsky raises here are still as relevant today as ever as other problems of socialist transition.

Further readings:
Lara Douds, “Inside Lenin’s Government: Power, Ideology and Practice in the Early Soviet State”, Bloomsbury Academic, 2008
David Priestland, “Bolshevik ideology and the debate over party‐state relations, 1918–21”, Revolutionary Russia Volume 10, 1997 – Issue 2 

Photo of Osinsky

Going Back or Moving Forward

Pravda, 15 January 1919

“Ah, yes, you preach no more no less a return to ‘democracy’, your reasoning smells a lot of liberalism”, we have already heard the objection from some comrades. Such comrades have not learned at all of our attitude to democracy, to populism. By renouncing the so-called “democratic republic”, we gave up bourgeois parliamentary democracy. We gave up its foundation, the capitalist mode of production, which provides in such a republic a financial dictatorship. We have renounced all the formal features of a “democratic republic” that, in words, give rights to the people and, in fact, ensure the domination of the bourgeoisie: universal (rather than class) suffrage; essentially irreplaceable elected bodies detached from the masses; separation of powers, transforming parliaments into legislative institutions: independence and irreplaceability of officials; universal and formal civil “freedoms”. 

But we gave up all this only in order to secure the dictatorship of the widest masses of the working people and to create a true people’s rule of law, a worker-peasant democracy. The Soviet republic is the only form of real democracy. And if so, some features of its working may coincide with the corresponding features of bourgeois democracy, recreating them in a new form. Moreover, some of the principles of the “proclamation” of bourgeois democracy are only truly implemented in the workers’ and peasants’ state. Also, direct participation of the masses in decisions of public affairs […] in the Soviet Republic, it is carried out in practice, thanks to the creation of a separate network of electoral cells and the unification of powers: responsibility […] ([…] only in the Soviet Republic, it is carried out due to replacement of officials and the same unification of powers); genuine public opinion controls all organs of power (bourgeois forgeries of public opinion disappear), etc.

We do not call to go back to bourgeois democracy, but forward to the expanded form of worker-peasant democracy. Only people infected with bureaucratic spirit may not understand that this is our goal, but authoritarian techniques are a temporary phenomenon, which is not the sole manifestation of a worker-peasant dictatorship. 

By the way, the attraction of new layers to public work to replace the “exhausted” part of the proletarian avant-garde, presupposes the reduction of “command” methods and increase in public initiative of the masses. A class mobilization in the proletariat under current conditions can be created by moving towards a developed form of worker-peasant democracy. 

What should be done to eliminate the main “shortcomings of the mechanism”.

The ways in which we must make this transition are as follows: 

First of all, it is necessary to connect all Soviet agencies directly to the organizations of the working masses. Commissariats of foodstuffs and finance, first of all, should be “workerized” by involving proletarian organizations in their system and involving representatives of these organizations in decision making. This is how the “personal union” of Soviet bureaucracy and the proletariat is created. 

But the position of Soviet officials should be radically changed as well. The number of emergency commissioners with extraordinary powers should be limited to a minimum. The rights, duties, and activities of the officials should be defined by precise norms. […] a Soviet republic may demand from them to fulfill their legal duties and refuse to fulfill their illegal demands. For their actions, especially for abuse of power, officials are responsible not only to their “department,” but also to elected bodies and the people’s court (it is best to arrange special tribunals for this purpose), to which every worker and peasant can summon them. 

All bodies carrying out searches and arrests (in particular, emergency commissions) must be subordinate to the judicial power. It should be explicitly stated that the emergency commissions should be turned into a properly appointed (i.e. subordinated to the control of the court), criminal and political police, which should exist in the workers’ and peasants’ state until further development makes it possible to replace it with a nationwide people’s militia. 

Both local Soviets and especially VTsIK (All-Russian Central Executive Committee) should become collegial institutions that discuss general norms and following policy measures, guide their implementation and indeed control their implementation. For this purpose, VTsIK may establish standing committees. It is necessary to reduce, and partially stop the concentration of legislative and executive powers within the narrow closed ministries–starting with the Presidium of VTsIK, the Council of People’s Commissars and departmental tops to the corresponding local cells. Uniting legislative and executive powers does not create arbitrariness and detachment from the masses only if the powers are united in the hands of experienced elected bodies.

The activities of all authorities should be controlled by the public opinion of workers and peasants. The meetings of collegial institutions should be public, open, and the commissariats should give reports on their work to VTsIK. All their work and the activities of individual officials should be constantly illuminated by this body of central power. The same shall apply to local councils. It is also clear that only a free discussion of all issues of public life in the press and at meetings leads to a firm ground for public discussion in elected institutions. 

The workers’ and peasants’ public opinion and the petty-bourgeois parties.

Here again we hear the questions: So you are proposing universal freedom of the press, of assembly (and therefore of unions)? Does this not mean a return to bourgeois democracy? And further: isn’t it related to the return to the soviets of parties hostile to workers’ and peasants’ power? And isn’t it related to the change of the course of our policy, which is so heavily criticized by the Mensheviks?

And in any case, we do not call back to bourgeois democracy, but forward to the full implementation of workers’ and peasants’ democracy. First of all, the workers’ and peasants’ democracy provides the workers and peasants with a real basis for the free use of speech, press, and assembly in a union organization (the bourgeoisie is deprived of space for […] telegraphy and paper, and the possibility of any bribed campaigning is destroyed). As for the very use of these real opportunities, we take care to ensure that workers and peasants are able to freely express their opinions. For us, only their public opinion exists, but not that of the bourgeoisie and its parties. The bourgeoisie and its parties are dead; they do not exist. 

So, who can express their opinion in the Soviet Republic and what can they say? Only parties and organizations whose representatives were sent by workers and peasants to their councils. Between them should be deployed, according to the number behind us of […]–premises, telegraph machines, and paper. At meetings and in the columns of newspapers, they shall substantiate the same views as those expressed in the councils. 

Thus, we have indeed come to the question of which parties may be represented on the councils. Until recently, petty-bourgeois parties were expelled from the Soviets. Now they are in a semi-legal position there. We must say clearly and unequivocally that at this stage of development there is no need to remove from the Soviets and from free discussion, parties that do not call for a direct overthrow of Soviet power. It is also possible that we will come to grant this freedom to all parties that can have representation in the Soviets. 

Since the balance of real forces has been confirmed in favor of the proletariat and the poor, since the Soviet state has been strengthened and established, freedom of the press and assembly for the petty-bourgeois parties represented in the Soviets is possible and necessary. The control of public opinion over the work of the Soviet authorities is thus expanding. In the chorus of public opinion, are heard the voices of backward politicians who express the opinion of the most backward and hardened layers of the petty-bourgeoisie. All the better: any clash of opinions is useful in the Soviet state because it has strengthened its existence. Variety makes it easier to find the right path quickly. As for gentlemen petty-bourgeois politicians, they are offered full opportunity to push for a change in general policy by influencing public opinion in a “soft parliamentary way” that they so praise. Only here public opinion is different and voters are different. But these voters, not worse, but better than parliamentary voters, can understand who is right and who is wrong.

As far as policy changes are concerned, allowing a minority to defend their opinions does not mean a change of course on the part of the majority. It only expresses the strengthening of the position of this majority. In addition, petty-bourgeois politicians and petty-bourgeois masses are “two big differences”. The overwhelming majority of the petty-bourgeois masses (peasants) followed the proletariat and its party and approved its policies. And this policy […] the party offered the petty-bourgeois masses through the head of people who wanted to speak on their behalf, but spoke only in the name of the kulaks and the bosses […]. Therefore, if we admit the lords of petty-bourgeois politicians to the Soviets, it does not mean that we “made peace with the petty-bourgeoisie” (we did not quarrel with it), and therefore it does not mean that we commit ourselves to any concessions to these lords. 

Thus, the question of the content of Soviet politics is by no means predetermined by fallen defeats. This is a special question. But the forms of defining this policy are predetermined: it is managed by elected bodies; it is conducted by officials directly subordinate to these bodies, who give them permanent master reports; they are rightfully controlled by the public opinion of workers and peasants. 

We think that if the Soviet Republic enters this path in the near future, the petty-bourgeois lords […] will have to testify bitterly that the Soviet Republic has survived another crisis unscathed. If this does not happen, the crisis will drag on, but it will still be resolved, and namely that is necessary. And the historical necessity will sooner or later declare and realize its rights. And the historical necessity is that the great and strong Soviet Republic grows and develops further, throwing off its skin, which has become tight for it. 

8th Congress of the R.C.P.(B.) — SECOND MEETING

ORGANIZATIONAL SECTION

March 21st, morning, 1919

Original proceedings, pages 187-197:

The meeting opens at 11:10 a.m.

Chairperson: I declare the meeting open. Comrade Avanesov has a word for order.

Avanessov: To reduce the time, I would suggest connecting the last two questions and giving the speakers a little more time.

Chairman: Are there any objections? No. Is it convenient to amend the regulations in order to provide the co-rapporteur with 30 minutes and 10 minutes for the final word? Accepted.

Osinsky:

Comrades, our party program includes a clause that speaks of the struggle against the revival of bureaucracy. By stating that we have a revival of bureaucracy, I must begin my report. This revival of bureaucracy is what we have called the “minor” and sometimes the “major” shortcomings of the Soviet mechanism in newspapers and discussions all the time. How is it expressed? Critics dwelt very little on elucidating the causes of this phenomenon. It should be noted that in our Soviet activities, the work of open elected collegia1, for example, plenums of local Soviets, plenary sessions of the CEC [Central Executive Committee]2, meetings, etc. is dying down. At meetings where the prepared bills are voted upon, there is no discussion of these bills.

Then, the lively work of the masses in state-building has frozen in our country. Decision-making is concentrated in narrow collegia, which — we need to straightforwardly state — to a considerable extent are detached from the masses in a significant way. We now have all issues resolved in executive bodies, starting from the very top and ending with the very bottom. The development of personal politics should be attributed to the phenomenon just mentioned. I must say that two months ago Comrade Lenin raised the question in the Central Committee about the development of our personal policy. This is called, speaking the German language–“Zettelwirtschaft”–economy by means of notes. We have solved a lot of problems by notes of various commissars.3 On this basis, starting from the very top, from party comrades, a system is developed for resolving problems by one-on-one means and a personal conduct of business is being developed. From here a whole system of irregularities arises, which leads to the fact that we are intensely developing patronage for close people, protectionism, and, in parallel, abuse, bribery; and, in the end, especially in the provinces obvious outrages are committed by our senior, sometimes party, workers. 

At present, the old party comrades have created a whole bureaucratic apparatus, built, in fact, on the old model. We have created an official hierarchy. When we made the demand of the commune state at the beginning of the revolution, this demand included the following provision: all officials must be elected and must be accountable to elected institutions. In fact, we now have a situation where the lower official, who acts in a province or county and is responsible to his commissariat, in most cases is not responsible to anyone. This explains to a large extent the outrages caused by the “people with mandates”, and despotism develops on this basis.

There’s an extreme development of paperwork. Entire groups of people gather who do nothing. And if our program is the so-called cheap government, then at the present time we can say that our government machine is extremely expensive. There are a lot of extra posts, they are paid all the time, and people who are registered as staff but to a large extent do nothing, eat bread for nothing and only increase clerical red tape. The question is, what is the reason for this? Two explanations are outlined in the draft of our program. On the one hand, it is indicated that the layer of advanced workers in Russia is unusually thin, while our state apparatus can be based only on this stratum of advanced workers. The new class state of the republic of workers and peasants should be based on personnel from the new classes that came to power–from the workers and the rural poor. Meanwhile, the layer of conscious representatives of these revolutionary classes is unusually thin. If this layer is thin, then the second layer is little cultivated due to the backwardness of our country. Then there is another main factor: under such circumstances, it is necessary to use the old bureaucratic apparatus, composed of the old workers of the former tsarist apparatus. As a result of this, all the old habits began to carry over to our institutions.

Such an explanation of the revival of bureaucracy is given by the program. Those two reasons, closely related to each other, which are indicated here, are undoubtedly very important, but not the only ones. There are other equally important reasons. We must reckon with the general situation in which our state-building is still taking place. Firstly, it takes place in a setting of acute civil war, and secondly, the construction of a new state mechanism was to be completed extremely quickly. Both required a military-style dictatorship. Our dictatorship acquired a military command character, we had to concentrate our powers in the hands of a small collegium, which was to quickly, without friction, discuss bills, etc. We had to quickly build a new state machine. Since the proletariat took power into its own hands, it needed to be consolidated by the creation of a solid apparatus, a solid state machine. Clearly, this could only be done if quick directives were given from the center. To a large extent this explains the phenomenon that we had to concentrate in the hands of a small collegium, sometimes even individuals, executive and legislative functions. This was supposed to strengthen the bureaucracy that is now beginning to penetrate us from the other end in the person of the old officials.

If we turn to measures to treat the shortcomings of the Soviet mechanism, then, taking into account the two kinds of reasons that I spoke about, we should outline a few other measures than those that are usually exhibited. The following question may arise: do these two reasons continue to have effect, that is, that we must quickly build the state apparatus and that we are at war? Of course, these reasons continue to operate, mainly the reason that comes down to the severity of the civil war. However, their action at some point begins to weaken. The civil war is weakening around the beginning of the winter of 18-19. It should be noted that in relation to the civil war, we had some change: namely, inside the country, the old state class was basically broken by the beginning of this winter, the bourgeoisie was defeated, it transferred forces to the outskirts, from where it is trying to send regiments that want to overthrow our power. But in the center this dominion is undermined, the bourgeoisie is broken, and the layer that supports it is also broken, such as the petty-bourgeois intelligentsia, from which vast detachments of the White Guards were recruited. Comrade Dzerzhinsky at the CEC factional meeting stated that at present we do not have the large kulaks of the White Guards, we have only scattered intelligentsia groups in the center of Russia, then the middle layer of clerks, various employees, etc. If they are not completely remade by us, then they are disorganized. The economic power has been taken away from the bourgeoisie, the main enterprises, banks, etc., have been taken away — in short, its keys to the economy, which are usually the keys of political power, have been taken away. This fact is important: there is no trace of the old state machine, the new state machine is basically laid down. In general, it turns out that we defeated our enemies within the country. We leveled all classes and even if they are not destroyed, we disorganized the enemy.

In such an environment, for us, the correct operation of the apparatus is a matter of great importance. If our apparatus is unable to cope with the tasks it faces, it can make it possible for these sectors of the population to oppose us not even because they will be counter-revolutionary, but simply because our apparatus will not serve them. We are mainly threatened by the fact that we are not coping with economic tasks. We defeated the bourgeoisie, but can we organize new production, feed and clothe the citizens of the Soviet Republic? That is the question. Because in this area we will not be able to cope with our task, we will be at risk of spontaneous indignation against us. Here it must be noted that the mass of peasant uprisings is explained by the outrages of the commissars of our provincial bureaucracy. Very often, the news of these revolts indicates that the peasants have nothing against the Soviet regime, but they rebel against the commissars who end up in the village. We need to seriously think about how to find ways to treat this deficiency. A transition is necessary from such forms when legislative and executive powers are concentrated in few hands to such forms when legislative and executive powers are exercised by the broadest possible masses. We cannot now proceed to the full, expanded form of the new democracy, to the workers ‘and peasants’ democracy, to that which is called the commune state. We cannot proceed because this is primarily hindered by the ongoing civil war inside the Soviet Republic, and, on the other hand, by an external onslaught. For a long time we will practice military command forms of the proletarian dictatorship. But at present, in order for us to have a stronger foundation within the country, so as not to incline the population against ourselves, we must expand the circle of those citizens who directly implement this dictatorship. We must involve at least the entire mass of the proletarian vanguard, if not the entire working class as a whole, if not the entire mass of workers and peasants in legislative, executive, and supervisory work. To do so, a number of concrete measures need to be taken to ensure that the power of government is transferred to the wider collegia chosen by the wider proletarian vanguard masses.

In addition, we need to take a number of different special measures against the revival of bureaucracy for the special reasons mentioned in the program. From these measures, I can clearly point out the following. First of all, it is necessary to start from the very top. At the top of our state apparatus there is an incredible parallelism, a repetition of institutions that do the same thing. For example, I now head the department of Soviet propaganda, which conducts international propaganda of the ideas of the Soviets and Soviet construction. In addition, at least 6-7 institutions are involved in this business, which absolutely cannot demarcate themselves from each other and interfere with each other all the time. I have given this example in order to go straight to the main one. First of all, there is parallelism in central government bodies. On the one hand, there is a Council of People’s Commissars, and on the other, there is a Presidium of the CEC, and their work largely coincides. Since the Presidium of the CEC is not only the Presidium that implements the decisions of the CEC or directs its meetings, it takes over the consideration of bills. On the other hand, the Council of People’s Commissars is considering the same bills. And neither the members of the CEC Presidium, nor the Council of People’s Commissars can say for sure where the powers of one body end and the powers of another begin. First of all, it is necessary to merge these two central government bodies into one. The question is which one to join to which: should the Presidium be attached to the Council of People’s Commissars or the Council of People’s Commissars to the Presidium? The Moscow Provincial Conference decided to add the Council of People’s Commissars to the Presidium. I am speaking on this issue not only on behalf of the provincial conference in Moscow, but also on behalf of the Ural delegation. At a joint meeting of these two delegations, it was decided that we should act differently: we must take the old name of the Council of People’s Commissars and attach the Presidium to the Council of Commissars. 

In essence, there is no difference whatsoever, and there can be no serious objections to that. On the ground, the Executive Committee is at the same time the Presidium of the Council, the legislative body and the executive body. Parallelism will be reduced by this, and the legislative and executive work will be clarified. If we do this, then our people’s commissariats will turn into what we need, into what they should be according to the Constitution, but which really is not. They are constitutional departments of the CEC, but in fact there are also departments of the CEC, whose activities coincide with those of the former, and the commissariats are actually becoming independent. If the Council of Ministers merges with the CEC Presidium, it will be the first guarantee that the commissariats will be CEC departments. Similarly, various local authorities – financial, educational, etc. – must be departments of local councils.

Next is the second proposal. I mentioned it yesterday and today I repeat it in a very serious way and now I will prove that at the moment, in fact, if we keep in mind the Council of People’s Commissars, there is no single government. I had the honor of being a member of the Council of People’s Commissars in November, December and January 17-18. Then, the Council of People’s Commissars discussed the main issues of politics. If there was a conflict with the Romanian ambassador, he was arrested or a war was declared – all this was considered at a meeting of the Council of People’s Commissars. This is currently not observed. Comrade Sapronov mentioned that Chicherin’s note about the Princes’ Islands fell into the regions, as if from heaven. Comrade Zinoviev says it’s not the case. In fact, this is true in some respects, because according to Chicherin’s first answer, it seemed that we were accepting an agreement, but we would not accept the Princes’ Islands, that this was a provocative proposal. But it was accepted. And this answer was completely unexpected for local organizations: they were not prepared for this form of response. This answer turned out to be unexpected even for members of the collegium of the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs, the institution that should consider foreign policy issues. The members of the board read this note in the newspapers, but did not take part in the discussion. Did the Council of People’s Commissars take part in this discussion? No. And not one of the major notes in the Council of People’s Commissars was considered. Now individual decrees are being considered there, they are being edited there, and some of the board members state that they have turned into an editorial commission. They do not rule the country, but consider decrees and resolve interagency tensions and disputes. There is no single government that governs politics in general. This situation needs to be changed.

Of course, there are no forms or prescriptions that can help the cause. At the beginning of the revolution, the situation was such that our government was a real government. And at this point, if the majority of the Central Committee members are members of the Council of People’s Commissars, the following advantages will be obtained. First, the Council of People’s Commissars will become a government in the full sense of the word. It will have to be in charge of policy at all times, as there will be the most senior political workers there. On the other hand, the Central Committee will always be in place and will not even have to meet to decide on individual issues, as these will be dealt with by the Council of People’s Commissars. And if it is necessary to solve more general issues, it will not be difficult to convene the Central Committee. Such a structure of the Council of People’s Commissars guarantees the existence of a real government, which is alive and working. On the other hand, there will really be a Central Committee. Against this, there may be objections that by doing so we will disrupt the business work of the Council of People’s Commissars. Nowadays, the Council of People’s Commissars consists exclusively of business people, and if not exclusively, then to a large extent, of people who understand political questions very poorly, but know very well their own departments. And it is necessary to understand, comrades, that this departmentalism does harm. If the government consists of business people, if it is a business cabinet, it is quite clear that everyone here will talk about the interests of their department and will argue about the boundaries of the competence of their agencies, and there will be no general political leadership. Typically the government is structured as follows: each agency should be headed by a responsible political head, and with him there are business fellow ministers. This is the case abroad, and it was also the case with us before. And thanks to this, the business work is not disturbed at all. All business commissars can be turned into deputy commissars. We will not lose anything from this, but we will acquire a real government, which we lack.

Chairperson: Your time is running out.

Osinsky: Then I will have to just read the theses. Here they are. (He reads.)

THESES ABOUT SOVIET CONSTRUCTION

Under the conditions of the civil war the apparatus of the new class state was built at an increased pace, the workers’ and peasants’ power still had to concentrate its legislative and executive powers in narrow and closed collegia (executive committees, bureaus, presidiums, etc.) or in the hands of individuals with unlimited powers. The need for such military command forms of proletarian dictatorship will not disappear completely until the victory of the international revolution. But now that the old state machine has been destroyed, the new one has been built, the old ruling classes and the production relations have been broken down, it is an opportunity to take a number of steps towards the proletarian class democracy, which is our goal in the field of state-building. Under these conditions, these steps consist of the broad involvement of the proletarian avant-garde in the legislation, management, and supervision. These steps will prevent the bureaucratic rigidity of the Soviet mechanism, revive its work, attract new cadres of workers and help to eliminate the spontaneous discontent of the masses with the shortcomings of the Soviet mechanism.

When we issued a decree on the emergency tax, then at the meeting of the CEC faction it turned out that no preparation had been done for the population. And the very same is true. Krestinsky admitted that it would have been more expedient if this issue had been widely discussed beforehand – then the masses would have been prepared and it would have been easier to implement it. Nowadays, even non-urgent draft laws are carried out without any preliminary preparation. In addition to measures to democratize the forms of proletarian dictatorship, it is necessary to take a number of special measures against the revival of bureaucracy. To this end, the Congress considers it necessary to implement the following provisions:

1) In order to fully unite and centralize legislative and executive activities, the Presidium of the Central Electoral Commission merges with the Council of People’s Commissars, which assumes all the functions of the Presidium. Existing people’s commissariats, in accordance with the requirements of the Constitution, become departments of the Central Electoral Commission, people’s commissariats are the heads of these departments and, at the same time, the members of the Presidium.

2) In order to eliminate this situation, when the Council of People’s Commissars has become a meeting of business commissars, which discusses individual decrees and does not actually direct the government policy as a whole, which leads to the strengthening of bureaucracy, it is necessary that as many members of the Central Committee of the party as possible should be part of the government.

3) In order to involve all CEC members in active work, the CEC composition is divided into sections corresponding to the departments. The sections are responsible for the preliminary review of decrees and major events of a fundamental nature that fall within the competence of the department.

4) As some people’s commissariats nowadays find themselves inclined to issue orders without discussion in the Council of People’s Commissars that contradict decrees and interfere with the competence of other central and local institutions, it is necessary to establish and implement a rule that no department has the right to issue principal and other particularly important decisions without discussion and approval by the Council of People’s Commissars.

5) The CEC plenum, being the supreme body of the Republic in the period between congresses and sitting at least twice a month, should take part in the legislation on the most important issues and in fact discuss and monitor the activity of the Council of People’s Commissars and departments of the All-Russian CEC.

6) Department estimates are discussed in detail in the financial section of the CEC and are approved by the plenary for each department separately.

7) Elections to the CEC at the Congress of Soviets are held only after all the candidates nominated separately are discussed in the party factions, and none of the members of the Presidium of the previous CEC should chair the election sessions. The list of members of the Communist faction of the CEC is approved by the Party Central Committee. After the approval of the lists by the Congress, they are announced at the last session of the Congress and are immediately published.

8) In order to establish a close connection between the CEC and the organizations of working masses, the majority of the CEC and its sections shall consist of employees of professional, cooperative, cultural, and educational organizations, etc.

9) In order to properly prepare and implement new actions, decrees and orders of general principle, except for the most urgent ones, should be discussed in advance in the sections and plenum of the CEC, reported in the abstracts to the local executive committees for review and considered in the press, as well as at meetings of workers’ organizations.

10) In order to save revolutionary forces and centralize local power, all executive committees of the city except for the executive committees of the capital cities and industrial centers are abolished, merging with provincial and district executive committees, to which all local power is transferred in the period between congresses.

11) Local executive committees shall organize departments and sections accordingly to departments and sections*. Each department is headed by a member of the executive committee. Members of the executive committee must be employees of local territorial-production cells. Plenums of local councils should take part in the discussion of the most important cases and supervise the activity of the executive committee.

(* Apparently, a word is missing “[of the] All-Russian Central Executive Committee”. -Ed.)4

12) As the People’s Commissariats currently seek to subordinate local departments to their direct influence, separate them from the executive committees, appoint their own heads of departments and members of the boards, it is necessary to restore and confirm the provision of the Constitution that all local departments are subordinate to and controlled by the executive committees, that the heads of departments, subdivisions, members of boards and other responsible persons are elected by the councils, congresses and their executive committees. Only local and higher executive committees and the Council of People’s Commissars have the right to withdraw the elected persons. 

In order to establish proper relations between the central and local authorities, an exact separation of powers should be worked out and fixed by law. In matters of national importance, local executive committees should be agents of the CEC and its presidium. All decrees and orders of the Central Authority are mandatory for executive committees. At the same time, local executive committees should exercise the widest right of local self-government.

13) In order to establish permanent relations between the Soviet bodies and working organizations, to constantly monitor the activities of the Soviet institutions by broad layers of the working class, members of sections related to professional, cooperative, cultural and educational organizations and cells should make regular reports on the activities of plenums, departments, and sections in which they participated. Heads of departments shall submit such reports to specially convened district workers and peasant conferences.

14) Special administrative and judicial departments shall be established in all executive committees in order to establish the real responsibility of officials and provide the public with a real opportunity to pursue officials who violate decrees and commit abuses. Collegia of departments are elected by the congresses and cannot be members of other departments. These departments have the right, upon complaints from the public, to overturn improper orders of officials, to remove officials who have committed offences, and to bring them to trial.

15) In view of the current abnormal tendency of the centers to establish separate local branch offices, which escape from the control of local executive committees, it must be established that local executive committees form a single office for all their departments. Loans granted by the centers to the relevant local departments are transferred to the account of the executive committee, which in turn has no right to delay and change the nature of the loans without special permission from the center.

16) In view of the apparent desire of the Revolutionary Military Council, individual headquarters, even individual commissioners to declare martial law without the consent of the executive committees, it is necessary to leave the right to declare martial law outside the front only to the executive committees and the Council of People’s Commissars. 

The basic norms of martial law and the conditions under which it can be extended should be elaborated by the CEC in the near future.

17) Since the existing outdated division of the country into provinces and counties prevents the proper establishment of central and local government, it is urgent to develop and implement a new division based on the tendency of territories to production centers.

Lenin’s Boys: A Short History of Soviet Hungary

Doug Enaa Greene on the Hungarian Soviet Republic and its tragic defeat. 

Automobile loaded with Communists going through the streets of Budapest, March 5, 1919.

It is 1919 and Russia is in the midst of a ruthless civil war with fronts stretching for thousands of kilometers across a ruined country. On one side are aristocrats and capitalists who had been overthrown less than two years before and are now desperately fighting to return to power. On the other side are the workers and peasants of the former Russian Empire, who had seized power from their former masters and were now determined to defend it. It is a savage struggle between two irreconcilable worlds with only two ways it can end: total victory or death. 

The Bolsheviks did not see their struggle as merely the concern of Russians but as the spark of a world revolution against exploitation and oppression. During the early months of 1919, the Bolshevik spark appeared to set fire to the old order of Europe. Revolution and revolt gripped Germany, Austria, Spain, Scotland, Ireland, and Italy. Other countries seemed poised for upheaval. Understanding the importance of these events, Commissar of War Leon Trotsky explained to soldiers of the Red Army:

Decisive weeks in the history of mankind have arrived. The wave of enthusiasm over the establishment of a Soviet Republic in Hungary had hardly passed when the proletariat of Bavaria got possession of power and extended the hand of brotherly unison to the Russian and Hungarian Republics….To fulfil our international duty, we must first of all smash the bands of Kolchak. To support the victorious workers of Hungary and Bavaria, to help the revolt of the workers in Poland, in Germany and throughout Europe, we must establish Soviet power definitively and irrefutably over the whole extent of Russia.1

When Trotsky spoke those words, Russia no longer stood alone. On March 21, workers’ revolution had come to Budapest and Soviet power was proclaimed. The Soviet Republic of Hungary joined with Soviet Russia in attacking the bastions of bourgeois power and showed the possibilities of a new socialist order. Unfortunately, Soviet Hungary did not last long and was toppled after only 133 days by the armed power of the internal counterrevolution and imperialism. Those were not the only causes of Soviet Hungary’s defeat. Poor Communist leadership and rash policies made Soviet Hungary’s loss swifter and more certain by alienating many potential supporters. Even though the Hungarian Soviet Republic provides many negative examples of how to make a revolution, they deserve to be remembered for their boldness in attempting to accomplish the impossible in the worst conditions.

Towards the Abyss

In the years before World War One, the reign of the ancient Hapsburg dynasty over the Austro-Hungarian Empire appeared secure. The Hapsburgs had successfully co-opted potential unrest from the Magyar nobility in 1867 by creating a Dual Monarchy. The Compromise of 1867 granted the Magyar aristocracy unparalleled autonomy with control over their own government and budget. Only in foreign policy, a common army, and a customs union did the Magyars remain united with Austria.

However, this apparent success of the Hapsburgs in Hungary masked deeper centrifugal forces that threatened the Empire’s stability. By the turn of the twentieth century, a fifth of Hungarian land was owned by just three hundred families. The question of land was acute in Hungary since nearly two-thirds of the population worked in agriculture. Land concentration affected not only the peasantry but also the lesser nobility. Many of these new “landless gentry” looked for employment in the new state bureaucracy. Before 1867, the bureaucracy possessed only a skeletal structure in Hungary. Afterward, it expanded rapidly with the construction of post offices, schools, railways, and tax collectors.2 According to the historian Perry Anderson 

“The Hungarian nobility henceforward represented the militant and masterful wing of aristocratic reaction in the Empire, which increasingly came to dominate the personnel and policy of the Absolutist apparatus in Vienna itself.”3

The social problems of Hungary were further compounded by the fact that only a minority of the population were Magyar (or ethnically Hungarian). In 1910, out of Hungary’s population of 21 million, only 10 million were Magyar. The majority were Croats, Slovenes, Romanians, Germans, Slovaks, Serbs, Ukrainians, and Jews. Jews formed less than 5 percent of the population, but they were heavily concentrated in urban centers such as Budapest (forming one-fifth of the populace). Many Jews played key roles in industrial and cultural life, fostering the growth of “popular” antisemitism. Antisemitism would be further exacerbated among the aristocracy and the peasantry by the fact that future leaders of the Hungarian Soviet Republic such as Georg Lukács, Béla Kun, József Pogány, Tibor Szamuely were Jews. Thus, the unresolved national question had revolutionary potential in Hungary.

The Compromise of 1867 benefited the Magyar nobility immensely. They gained a great deal of power and privileges that they had no intention of surrendering. The nobility ensured that both non-Magyar and the lower classes were denied any democratic rights. In 1914, only six percent of the population had the vote. William Craig explained the dilemma of the Hungarian nobility as follows: “Pretending to be Magyar, it gave no political rights to the Magyar peasants, the bulk of that nationality. Pretending to be liberal, it gave no political voice to the non-Magyar nationalities, very nearly a majority of the population.”4

The Dual Monarchy created a situation that Trotsky would characterize as combined and uneven development.5 On the one hand, it reinforced the weight of absolutism, feudalism, and the oppression of national minorities. On the other hand, it enabled the rapid expansion of capitalism and the creation of a bourgeoisie in Hungary. However, this bourgeoisie was not prepared to play a revolutionary role. For one, the development of capitalism was facilitated by Austrian and foreign capital, meaning the Magyar bourgeoisie was dwarfed by them. Secondly, the bourgeoisie was more interested in entering the ranks of the nobility than in overthrowing them. Magyar capitalists purchased large estates and married into the aristocracy. Lastly, the bourgeoisie was unable to play a truly Jacobin role because they could not rely on the working class. To do so would threaten their power and property as much as that of the aristocracy. As Michael Löwy concluded: “the real class interests of the bourgeoisie… wisely preferred the status quo to any revolutionary-democratic adventure, with all the attendant dangers for its own survival as a class.”6

Industrialization had created a modern working class. Out of an active labor force of 9 million, there were 1.2 million workers. Approximately a third of whom worked in small factories numbering between 1 and 20 workers. On top of this, 37 percent of laborers worked in factories numbering more than 20.7 At least 300,000 laborers worked in businesses with more than 100 workers and a third of them were located in Budapest.8 Thus, Hungary possessed a highly concentrated and volatile industrial working class, who possessed the potential social weight to lead both a bourgeois-democratic and a socialist revolution.

In fact, the Hungarian proletariat had a long history of militancy. In 1894, there were clashes between agricultural workers and the army in Hódmezővásárhely that left a number dead. Three years later, there were strikes in 14 counties by agricultural workers. In 1905, 1912, and 1913 the working class launched mass strikes and demonstrations for universal male suffrage. However, the Hungarian Social Democratic Party/Magyarországi Szociáldemokrata Párt (MSZDP) was not prepared to lead a working revolution. Formed in 1890, the MSZDP based its program on the German Erfurt Program, which had the ultimate aim of socialism, but it focused on immediate goals such as achieving democratic and social reforms such as universal suffrage. In general, the MSZDP tended to embrace a reformist and legalistic strategy, which was ironic considering they were excluded from parliament by the nobility and the bourgeoisie. All this meant that the MSZDP was a marginal political force in Hungary. 

The MSZDP possessed a narrowly “workerist” ideology, reflecting their base among the elite and skilled sections of the unionized working class. Thus, the party paid only lip-service to demands for Hungarian independence or rights for national minorities. The MSZDP was hostile to the peasantry, writing them off as one reactionary mass: The peasantry is reactionary in the true sense of the word…. This… makes it impossible to enter into even temporary alliances with the peasantry.”9 Due to their reformism, mistrust of the peasantry, and national minorities, the MSZDP was not up to the task of playing a revolutionary vanguard role.

A scattered left opposition did oppose the MSZDP leadership. The most significant came from a librarian, translator of Marx, and anarcho-syndicalist theorist named Ervin Szabó (1877-1918). Szabó criticized the MSZDP’s opportunism and parliamentarism, demanding internal democratization of the party. Uniquely, Szabó advocated autonomy for cultural minorities within Hungary. He managed to exert influence upon a number of young students and founders of the Communist Party such as Jenő László and Béla Vágó.10 Vágó organized a small radical faction in the MSZDP that included other future communists, including Gyula Alpári, Béla Szántó, and László Rudas. By 1907, Szabó and his supporters were effectively isolated inside the MSZDP and driven out.

Szabó’s influence extended far outside the ranks of the Social Democratic Party. Among those who were shaped by him was a young and brilliant philosopher and future communist named Georg Lukács (1885-1971).11 While outside of organized politics before World War One, Lukács was involved in a number of philosophical and intellectual circles that were influenced by radical ideas, many of whom would later join the Communist Party.

Despite all the challenges, the Hungarian Ancien Régime resisted all calls for reform. Prime Minister István Tisza thwarted all attempts for land reform and even the most modest expansion of voting rights. While these efforts prevailed, the strength of Hungarian conservatism came not from any brilliance among the aristocracy, but from the weaknesses of its opponents. As World War One would prove, the Hungarian social order was built on feet of clay and unprepared for a great trial of strength. When the guns went silent, it collapsed like a house of cards.

World War One

When war was declared in 1914 there was mass jubilation in Hungary. All social classes shared in it,  as for many the war appeared to be a chance for glory and conquest. When mass mobilization began, crowds in Budapest shouted for the defeat of Serbia. Priests blessed the soldiers marching off to far-off battlefields. Even the socialists were not immune from national sentiment. Like their counterparts elsewhere in Europe, the MSZDP abandoned its internationalist commitments and pledged their support to the government’s war effort. While the Social Democrats had no seats in parliament, there is little doubt that they would have voted for war credits if given the opportunity.

Very quickly, Hungary was on a war footing. In 1915, the army took over the management of most major industries and mines in a sort of “military socialism.” The war also brought on full employment and increased wages since skilled workers in armaments industries were at a premium and exempted from military service. Since munitions workers were determined to protect their bargaining power, the membership of organized labor increased to 200,000 by war’s end.12 However, the war economy took its toll on the home front as inflation grew and real wages plummeted. Labor shortages caused the production of fuel and foodstuffs to fall by half, leading to the introduction of rationing and the rise of a black market that benefited a small elite. Many blamed the Jews for war-profiteering and speculation. Conditions were overall appalling. Urban centers lacked new housing construction and were overcrowded due to an influx of 200,000 refugees.13 Despite the sacrifices, production failed to meet the needs of the army.

Hungary contributed disproportionately to the Hapsburg war effort. Of the 9 million soldiers Austria-Hungary drafted during the war, 4 million came from Hungary. The Hungarians suffered heavy casualties as well with at least 660,000 killed in battle, 740,000 wounded and nearly 730,000 taken prisoner.14 The heavy losses served to embitter the Hungarians, who believed they were being used as cannon-fodder. As suffering increased during the course of the war, public opinion shifted from chauvinistic militarism to disillusionment and hatred for the government.

István Tisza headed the Hungarian government during the war and was committed to victory. He also believed that victory could come without granting any major reforms. An opposition to Tisza’s conservative intransigence coalesced around Mihály Károlyi and the Party of Independence. From an aristocratic background and holding the title of Count, Károlyi broke with his class in advocating liberal and nationalist reforms. The Party of Independence vaguely supported suffrage to veterans, demands for Hungarian economic independence, and an end to the war. Károlyi himself was too radical for the party and resigned in 1916. He formed the United Party of Independence and 1848 that forthrightly supported Hungarian independence, universal suffrage, land reforms, a welfare state, and an end to the war. The new party had a base among democratic intellectuals and ultra-nationalist members of the gentry. It also formed the main parliamentary opposition. In 1917, Károlyi managed to gain support from the MSZDP for his peace and democratic reform program.15 All of this meant that Károlyi and the United Party of Independence and 1848 were now the nucleus of a future government.

Count Mihály Károlyi

Until the Soviet peace proposals of 1917, the MSZDP was doggedly committed to the war effort. Thus, any anti-war voices that appeared did so without official sanction from the party. The first anti-war socialists began organizing in 1915 when activists created a network to coordinate anti-war propaganda in the army and illegal strikes. The police clamped down and stopped their organizing. Two years later, a more serious anti-war opposition formed as socialists and labor activists among engineers, metalworkers, and technicians created their own unions to coordinate strikes and force concessions from the government. They did this without support from the MSZDP. Undaunted, these “engineer socialists” built support in a number of union locals in Budapest.16 This new center of militant syndicalism provided an invaluable organizing center for future working-class struggles against the old regime.

Another leftist pole known as the Revolutionary Socialists was created in 1917 by Szabó-style syndicalists and intellectuals from the Galileo Circle. Among their members were future communists Ottó Korvin, János Lékai, József Révai, and Imre Sallai.17 The Revolutionary Socialists were inspired by the anti-war propaganda coming out of Russia. Their propaganda highlighted real grievances and called for strikes, sabotage, and an end to the war. Arguably, the Revolutionary Socialists were the first Bolshevik center inside Hungary, not only rejecting both the status quo and Social-Democracy but also supporting a working-class revolution based upon workers’ councils.18 The Hungarian revolutionary left viewed workers councils or soviets as a real way to mobilize workers for revolution. In contrast to the reformist MSZDP and trade unions, councils organized workers at the point of production and engage in militant direct action. The Russian Revolution also showed that workers’ councils could provide the foundation for a working-class state against the bourgeois state.

On December 26, 1917, two syndicalist activists, Antal Mosolygó and Sándor Ösztreicher set up the first workers council.19 The “engineer socialists” created this council to organize and coordinate the workers for a national strike which momentum had been building up for since November as the economic situation deteriorated. To counter leftist agitation the government banned the Galileo Circle and had its members arrested for sedition.

News of the punitive terms demanded by Germany to Russia at the Brest-Litovsk negotiations ended up sparking mass strikes in Wiener Neustadt in Austria in January. Before long these strikes had spread to Hungary. On January 18, the Revolutionary Socialists and syndicalists still at liberty called for a strike. The strike was supported by railway workers and engineers, but more than 150,000 took to the streets, shouting slogans “Long Live the Workers’ Councils!” and “Greetings to Soviet Russia!” At the last minute, the Social-Democrats threw their support behind the strike, but only in order to end it. Several unions refused, notably the metalworkers’ and the rail-workers unions. Ultimately the resignation of the MSZDP from the strike’s executive committee forced a return to work.

Mere weeks later, the MZSDP held an extraordinary party congress. On the surface, it was a victory for the moderates. The party managed to contain rebellion from militant unions and the incumbent leadership was supported by an overwhelming majority. However, the party executive was no longer unchallenged and revolutionary politics were on the political map. Political polarization was only just beginning.

The January strike was only the start of social unrest. Soldiers in the barracks revolted and it was difficult for the army to send new recruits to the front. During the summer, more than a hundred thousand deserted. Over the course of the next few months, workers engaged in wildcat strikes. From June 22-27, Landler and the railroad workers launched another major strike, demanding wage increases. Soon a million workers were in the streets of Budapest. In response, the government had Landler arrested. Once again, the Social-Democrats joined the strike but ended it once minor concessions were granted. Tellingly, the MSZDP did not demand the release of Landler as a condition for returning to work. The June defeat only incensed the radicals and union leaders, deepening the divide between them and the MSZDP leadership.
In early October, the socialists took advantage of the relaxed censorship and demanded universal suffrage and a secret ballot, peace based on American President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points, nationalization of major industries, land reform, and equal rights for all nationalities. The MSZDP’s program for a “People’s Government” was denounced by the revolutionary left as too little, too late.

While the divide between moderates and revolutionaries in the MSZDP was deep, it had not yet been consummated in a formal split. The revolutionary left lacked a coherent program to rally around. The split would finally come in late November when a prisoner-of-war named Béla Kun returned from Soviet Russia to provide guidance to the revolutionary left.

Béla Kun

During the war, Austria-Hungary experienced its heaviest fighting in Romania and Russia where millions died. At least 10 percent of the Austria-Hungarian army was taken prisoner there, including 600,000 Hungarians.20 Among them was a conscript and former socialist journalist named Béla Kun (1886-1938), who was captured in 1916 and sent to a POW camp in Tomsk. He would prove to be in the right place at the right time.

Béla Kun

As the Russian Empire collapsed in revolution, thousands of Hungarian prisoners including Kun were attracted to Bolshevism. In April 1917, Kun befriended members of the local soviet and expressed his desire to work with them on behalf of the socialist cause. In an article written around this time, Kun explained his attraction to the Russian Revolution:

Although I worked for the common cause far from the Russian comrades, I too absorbed the air of the West, where the great ideas of social democracy were born. Now, in the light of the Great Russian Revolution, I understand: ex oriente lux.21

Kun was quite a catch for the Tomsk Soviet and proved to be energetic, talented, and dedicated. He was a “jack of all trades” who wrote for the leftist Novaia Zhizn on foreign affairs and organized Hungarian POWs in support of the revolution. After the October Revolution, Kun was transferred from Tomsk to Petrograd, where he began working for the International Propaganda Department of Foreign Affairs under Karl Radek. There, he worked with the Bolsheviks to conduct antiwar propaganda amongst German troops at the Brest-Litovsk peace negotiations. He also continued his agitation among prisoners of war scattered throughout Russia.

Once the negotiations at the Brest-Litovsk broke down in February 1918, the Germans launched a major offensive against Russia. Kun attempted to rally Hungarian prisoners to fight on behalf of the Bolsheviks. Even though Russia signed a humiliating peace treaty, Kun’s efforts to organize Hungarians continued. After the Bolshevik seizure of power, Hungarians were fighting for the revolution. Due to the efforts of Kun about 80,000-100,000 more Hungarians enlisted in the Red Guard to defend the Soviet Republic in the Civil War.22 Kun himself served in an internationalist unit that defended Moscow, where he helped to put down an abortive putsch by the Left Socialist Revolutionaries in July 1918.23 Over the next three months, Kun fought in the Urals, commanding a Red Army company and, later, a battalion.24 He proved himself to be one of the most valued, talented, and influential foreign socialists in Soviet Russia.

Kun’s efforts to organize the Hungarian POWs inspired similar endeavors by the Bolsheviks among German, Czech, Serb and Romanian POWs. Lenin believed that they were naturally sympathetic to communism, but their sympathy had to be translated into action. The Bolsheviks hoped that the POWs would not only serve in the Red Army but act as “carriers” by bringing international revolution back to their homelands. While the Bolsheviks had mixed results among the various nationalities, their efforts among the Hungarians proved to be quite successful. In March 1918, a core of communists was created among the Hungarians and they formed a Hungarian section of the Bolshevik Party.

It was the plan of Kun and his close comrades, Tibor Szamuely and Endre Rudnyánszky, to train cadre for a return to Hungary in order to foment revolution. From March onward, a series of meetings were held in Russia for the purpose of forming the Hungarian Communist Party, which was established on November 4 in Moscow. Between May and November of 1918, the Hungarians organized an educational program to provide a crash course in communism. Five seminars were held in Moscow on a variety of themes ranging from the ABCs of communism, the Marxist theory of value, imperialism, and the Russian Revolution. Kun, Szamuely, and Kráoly Vántus taught most of the lectures. One hundred and twenty agitators were trained and 100 of them returned to Hungary in November. Despite their small numbers, they proved invaluable in laying the foundation of an organized communist party in Hungary itself.25 Considering the chaotic situation in Hungary, Kun and the Bolsheviks believed it was imperative for the Hungarians to return home with all due haste.

Kun left Soviet Russia on November 6 along with 250-300 Hungarian communists. They were only a drop among the approximately 300,000 prisoners, who returned to Hungary in the closing months of 1918. Kun and his comrades used false documents and had little trouble crossing the border.26 Their revolutionary work was just beginning.

The Chrysanthemum Revolution

By September, military defeat for the Central Powers was no longer in doubt. The German offensive on the Western Front had failed and the Allies were advancing everywhere. The Hapsburg Empire was beginning to come apart as various nationalities prepared to secede. Rather than fight for a lost cause, Hungarian soldiers at the front spontaneously refused to fight and the mutiny quickly spread to the entire Hungarian army.

On October 16, in an effort to placate the Allies and save the Austro-Hungary from collapse, Emperor Karl I declared that he accepted the principle of federalism. The Hapsburgs planned to create a series of national councils composed of German, Czech, South Slav and Ukrainian, who would cooperate with the Imperial government. This last-ditch effort could not save the Hapsburgs. Over the next month, the Romanians, Czechs, Southern Slavs, and other nationalities seceded and formed their own states. The end of Austria-Hungary was all but an accomplished fact.

Interestingly, Karl I’s proclamation exempted the Magyars and ensured the territorial integrity of the Kingdom of Hungary. Even at this late date, the Magyar ruling class still hoped to preserve Greater Hungary without granting any autonomy to the subject nationalities. As Austria-Hungary collapsed, the Hungarian government declared the 1867 compromise null and void. They declared that Hungary had regained full sovereignty. The revolt from below meant the old system of aristocratic government was no longer viable. The only political alternative now was a democratic republic, which the Magyar ruling class had rejected for generations. There was only one figure with genuine democratic credentials who could lead a Hungarian republic: Mihály Károlyi.

The new government took shape in a meeting held on October 23-24 at Károlyi’s mansion. The attendees included representatives of Károlyi’s party, the small Radical Party led by Oszkár Jászi and the Social-Democrats. The following day, the three parties announced the formation of a National Council which was effectively a new government-in-waiting. The National Council released a progressive program of democratic and social reforms, national independence, an end to the war, land reform and a more equitable distribution of wealth.

It was a shrewd and brilliant move to include the MSZDP. Unlike the other parties, the socialists possessed the sole organized force in the country with its one million strong trade union constituency. The socialists had no intention of launching a socialist revolution but could use their apparatus to provide legitimacy to a bourgeois one. This coalition of liberal aristocrats, middle-class reformers, and opportunist socialists, was heterodox and unwieldy, but also the only social force who saw themselves as capable of filling the political vacuum.

Emperor Karl I hesitated to recognize the Hungarian National Council. Instead, he appointed Count Janos Hedik, as Prime Minister of Hungary on October 29. On October 30, Hungarian troops showed their lack of confidence in Hedik by taking over strategic positions in Budapest. The following day, Hedik resigned and Károlyi was appointed Prime Minister in his stead. The Hedik government lasted barely two days. There was jubilation in the streets of Budapest with many of the troops wearing white chrysanthemums. The white chrysanthemums were popular this time of year for All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. In turn, the chrysanthemum became the symbol of the victorious revolution.

The Interlude

It appeared that Hungary had all ingredients for a successful bourgeois-democratic revolution: the transfer of power was peaceful and bloodless, the majority of the population gained the vote, and the government was supported by both liberals and leftists. However, the very circumstances that had allowed the Chrysanthemum Revolution to occur meant it had limited chances to fulfill its program.

For one, Károlyi’s government inherited the defeat and ruin left by the Hapsburgs. Even though an armistice was signed with the Allies on November 3, this contained no agreements on Hungary’s borders. In fact, French, Romanian and Yugoslav armies continued to threaten Hungary from the east and south. Ten days later, Károlyi signed a further armistice that deprived Hungary of more than half of its former territory. On top of this, there was no longer an army to defend the frontiers, with only scattered units around to offer any resistance. As time wore on, Magyar nationalists believed that Károlyi was incapable of defending Hungary. The Allies showed no concern for the Hungarians but appeared only interested in punitive measures, which only served to undermine Károlyi’s government.

Nearly as threatening as the territorial losses and the armistice negotiations was the catastrophic economic situation at home. Due to territorial changes, only about one-fifth of coal mines remained inside Hungary’s new borders. Thus, fuel and electricity were rationed in Budapest, which forced businesses to close early. The dire state of transport meant food rotted in the countryside and could not be sold in the cities. As a result, starving workers launched food riots. Inflation was rampant. Unemployment skyrocketed with the return of prisoners of war and an influx of refugees. The Károlyi government had no plans to reconvert industry to civilian production. The situation in Hungary was like the war had never ended since the Allied economic blockade remained in force.

Károlyi’s government was unprepared to handle these manifold crises. Most of them had little to no experience in government. They were forced to rely upon the benevolent neutrality of the old state bureaucracy and the officer corps. Nor did the government have much legitimacy outside of Budapest. Both the United Party of Independence and 1848 and the Radical Party had no mass support or political organization. The only group that possessed both was the socialists. According to Rudolf Tőkés: “The government… could not implement a single major decision… without the tacit or expressed consent of the socialists.”27

However, the Chrysanthemum Revolution placed the socialists in a dilemma. On the one hand, they had the support of organized labor and could potentially use that base to take power, nationalize industries and carry out a socialist program. On the other hand, they could use their power to consolidate a bourgeois-democratic revolution. The MSZDP leadership refrained from taking power and decided to enter the government as a responsible junior partner.28

Beyond its influence in the trade unions, the socialists held commanding positions in the workers’ councils. While Károlyi formerly controlled the reins of government, genuine power was in the hands of the councils. It was important that the MSZDP use its influence in the councils to halt any radical impulses. Out of 365 delegates to the councils, the socialists held a commanding majority of 239. The socialists’ power was so great in the workers’ councils that they were able to exclude the revolutionary left from them in November. The radicals only managed to hold onto a small audience in the soldiers’ councils.29 While the MSZDP kept the councils loyal to the government, other ideas developed. As the economy collapsed, workers found themselves more and more drawn into managing industries with thoughts of workers’ control. The socialists planned to use their control of the workers’ councils to restore production. In November, Zsigmond Kunfi, one of the socialist members of Károlyi’s cabinet called for a “six-week suspension of class struggle.”30 However, calls for calm and restoring production seemed like a cruel joke to workers as the economy and their livelihoods disintegrated.

Learning nothing from the example of the Russian Mensheviks, Hungarian Socialists supported a democratic government where they shared blame for its decisions. Many socialists believed that the MSZDP had relinquished its socialist program in order to befriend its bourgeois allies. Many workers also distrusted a government that was controlled by aristocrats and capitalists. As the failures of the Károlyi government mounted, the party’s base and the councils began to look elsewhere for solutions.

The Hungarian Communist Party

On November 24, the Hungarian Communist Party (HCP) was officially founded in Budapest. Béla Kun was the acknowledged leader of the new party. The new central committee included thirteen members, including former POWs such as Vántus, György Nánássy, and Szamuely (who headed an alternative central committee). Among the party’s founders were left-wing socialists such as Korvin, Béla Vágó, and Béla Szántó.31 The new HCP’s program was uncompromisingly revolutionary: demanding an end to class collaboration, exposing the right-wing leadership of the MSZDP, nationalizing estates, creating unemployment insurance, workers control in the factories, alliance with Soviet Russia, and a dictatorship of the proletariat based upon the workers’ councils. As Béla Kun’s biography György Borsányi said of the party: “In summary we may state: the organizational principles of the new party were underdeveloped, its ideology was messianic.”32

Hungarian Communist Party founder Tibor Szamuely (second from the left) and V. I. Lenin in Moscow, 1919

Unlike the MSZDP, the HCP was not a parliamentary vote-catching organization, but a dynamic and youthful organization committed to revolutionary action. They began publishing a newspaper Vörös Ujság (Red Journal) to reach the broader populace. Kun and the HCP were uniquely placed to rally all forces of the radical left to their banner and fan the flames of discontent. Despite its small size, the opportunities for the HCP to grow were immense.

Georg Lukács

Among the earliest adherents to the HCP was Georg Lukács, who became its most internationally renowned member. Lukács had long stayed away from organized politics in exchange for literary and philosophical pursuits. He was a romantic anti-capitalist and opposed to the war, but saw no social force capable of creating a new order. Lukács viewed the MSZDP as irredeemably bourgeois. The success of the October Revolution made a deep impact upon him, even though he found many of the Bolshevik’s tactics to be abhorrent. In November 1918, Lukács wrote “Bolshevism as an Ethical Problem” expressing his central objection:

We either seize the opportunity and realize communism, and then we must embrace dictatorship, terror and class oppression, and raise the proletariat to the position of ruling class in place of class-rule as we have known it, convinced that – just as Beelzebub chased out Satan this last form of class rule, by its very nature the cruelest and most naked, will destroy itself, and with it all class rule.33

However, Lukács passed quickly from his abstract ethical objection of Bolshevik violence after reading Lenin’s State and Revolution and attending communist meetings.34 During this same period, he met Béla Kun, who explained the need to use revolutionary terror and violence. Lukács accepted Kun’s arguments on the necessity for revolutionary violence, saying later:

… we Communists are like Judas. It is our bloody work to crucify Christ. But this sinful work is at the same time our calling: only through death on the cross does Christ become God, and this is necessary to be able to save the world. We Communists then take the sins of the world upon us, in order to be able thereby to save the world.35

Twelve days after the Communist Party was founded, Lukács officially joined as its fifty-second member.36 He was co-opted onto the editorial board of the party’s journal Internationale and became a member of the alternative central committee.

Georg Lukács around the time of the Soviet Republic

The Road to Power

Over the course of the following months, the HCP grew from a tiny sect into a mass party and, finally, the second communist party in the world to take state power. The HCP was aided not only by the revolutionary situation in Hungary; they had a clear goal and worked methodically towards it. Vörös Ujság was an organ ideally suited to agitation on a mass scale. By contrast, Internationale, lectures, and seminars appealed to artists, writers, and intellectuals. Lastly, the communists were utterly dedicated to spreading the revolutionary message throughout the country. Kun himself was able to deliver twenty speeches a day. As József Révai observed: “There was hardly a worker who was not at some time and in some way exposed to communist propaganda.”37

Over the next few months, the HCP went to work. The HCP targeted selected groups whom they believed were open to radicalization, such as unionized workers in heavy industry, particularly miners and steelworkers in Budapest. They also hoped to win over the soldiers’ council and the unemployed. It was not simply that all these groups had grievances, but the cautious tactics by the MSZDP and the union leadership had disillusioned militants. While the socialists remained committed to its middle-of-the-road course, a great deal of its rank-and-file were dismayed with the party’s moderate stance. They grew fascinated by the Communist élan and that history appeared to be on their side. Considering the economic breakdown in Hungary, many workers began to doubt the possibilities of democratically reaching socialism. Only the communists seemed to promise something more than accommodating the bourgeoisie. Despite the HCP’s rigid qualifications for membership, these were often ignored in the breach. As a result, the party grew from 10,000 in January to 25,000 in February, with 10,000 located in Budapest alone.38 At the beginning of January, the communists took over the Young Workers’ League, which had previously been under MSZDP leadership. Even though the HCP only managed to recruit a small minority, it was both vocal and active.

By January, there were calls inside the workers’ councils for the creation of a purely socialist government. While a compromise plan was adopted that doubled the socialist membership in Károlyi’s cabinet, it was clear that the MSZDP leadership was divided. The HCP did not hesitate to exploit these divisions, calling for a split:

We do not intend to push the Social Democratic toward the left…but rather to help the revolutionary elements break away, so that the reformists and the believers in legal methods would be isolated. We must push he reformists to the right, by splitting off the revolutionaries and uniting them in the [Communist] Party. This is the only way to enable the Hungarian proletariat to take advantage of the revolutionary situation and participate in the international proletarian revolution.39

The HCP’s call for open rebellion in the Socialist Party provoked a response. On January 28, the MSZDP used its majority in the workers’ councils to have the communist faction expelled and its members physically removed. However, the MSZDP’s commitment to the government meant that they had cleared the way for the communists to take charge of the streets.

Over the course of January and February, mass struggles escalated. On January 2, a strike broke out at one of the largest coal mines in Hungary. The miners proceeded to occupy the pits, the nearby buildings, and railroad stations. The government sent in troops to put down the strike. As a result, ten strike leaders were shot. On January 22, the HCP called for a rent strike in Budapest, which prompted the government to issue a general rent reduction. Lastly, there were public demonstrations of soldiers and the unemployed in Budapest that led to violence.

The arrival of the HCP on the political scene alarmed the Károlyi government, who hoped to contain the situation. The police were granted new powers and new legislation was passed to curtail the “excesses” by the workers’ councils. In February, the government made a show of authority by moving against a number of right-wing groups and raiding the offices of Vörös Újság.

Things were not quiet in the countryside either. The slow pace of land reform led to a rash of land seizures by the peasantry. To protect themselves from the threat of revolution, the local gentry raised their own militias. In an attempt to pacify the peasantry, the Károlyi government passed a much-heralded land reform law on February 16. The law limited the size of holdings to 500 acres with compensation to be paid by the government. In a symbolic gesture to commemorate the new law, Károlyi personally divided up his own immense estate. Károlyi’s gesture did little to inspire other landowners, who remained determined to hold onto their holdings. The peasantry was disappointed in the law, believing it set the limits of estates to be too high and that the whole process of land redistribution was too slow and marred with red tape. Instead of relying upon the law, the peasants decided to take matters into their hands by occupying large estates and forming cooperatives. Ultimately, the land reform remained a dead letter.40

It was the hope of the government and socialists that their measures would provoke a response from the communists. By February, the HCP had grown enormously, but they were still far from overtaking the MSZDP, not to mention taking power. It was still possible to permanently curb their influence. That opportunity came on February 20. On that day, a communist-led demonstration in Budapest of the unemployed marched to the offices of Népszava (People’s Voice), a Social-Democratic newspaper, criticizing their coverage of the unemployed movement. A cordon of police was waiting for them and guarding the offices. The ensuing clash between demonstrators and the police left several dead and injured.

Károly Dietz, the police commissioner of Budapest, used the demonstration to demand that the government take immediate action against the communist threat. The government wanted assurances from Dietz that arrests could be carried out successfully and without sparking any backlash. After Dietz gave his assurances, the government gave him permission. That night, the police arrested forty-three leading communists, including Béla Kun.41 Once in custody, Kun was severely beaten and nearly killed by the police. By the end of the month, party headquarters and the Vörös Újság offices were closed and dozens more communists were arrested.42

The entire MSZDP, including its left-wing, supported the anticommunist crackdown. The following day, the socialists staged a mass demonstration of upwards of 250,000 in Budapest to support the government. However, the mood of the marchers changed dramatically once word reached them that Kun had been beaten. According to György Borsányi: “The impact was tremendous. Within minutes the mood on the streets had changed drastically. The shooting at the Népszava building became an insignificant misunderstanding compared to the news that the police had bludgeoned Kun to death, or at least half-dead.”43 Workers remembered the police brutality of the old regime and all that bitterness came rushing back. Suddenly, an anti-communist demonstration transformed into one sympathizing with the communists. This was exactly the backlash that the government had hoped to avoid.

Despite the arrests of the HCP leadership, its back-up central committee under Lukács, Szamuely, Gyula Hevesi, Ferenc Rákos, and Ernő Bettelheim went into action within days. Vörös Újság published again and agitators were entering the factories. As the socialist writer Lajos Kassák observed: “It was business as usual for the communists.”44 The HCP found that Kun’s martyrdom was a very effective propaganda weapon. Not only did the HCP recover quickly, but they gained mass support and sympathy from the population. 

It became clear to the socialists that they would have difficulty filing charges against the communists because they would have to use the laws of the old regime. This would provide a golden opportunity for Kun to agitate against both them and the government. To salvage the situation, the government did an about-face and condemned the mistreatment of communist prisoners. Soon the communists were granted preferential treatment and Kun was able to lead the HCP from prison.

Over the ensuing weeks, the right-wing leadership of the MSZDP lost a great deal of influence. The voice of the leftists such as Pogány, Jenő Landler and Eugen Varga in the party grew. They condemned the socialist leadership for abandoning the class struggle, as well as making increased calls for unity with the communists and an alliance with Soviet Russia. The old party apparatus could no longer silence them.

On March 3, in a sign that the working class was moving leftward, the Budapest Workers’ Council voted to allow the communists to rejoin after expelling them only weeks before.45 Four days later, the council approved a plan for socialization. On March 10, the workers’ council of Kaposvar took power, posing a direct challenge to the government. In the countryside, land seizures and unrest continued to grow. On March 13, the Budapest police force recognized the authority of the soldiers’ council. This effectively meant that the last shred of governmental authority had vanished in the capital. Days later, trade unions at the Csepel iron and steel factories passed resolutions in favor of freeing the communists and denounced the MSZDP in favor of socializing industry. On March 20, a printers’ general strike paralyzed Budapest, and thousands of ironworkers joined the HCP. During the strike, the air was rife with rumors of an armed uprising to free the communists and create a soviet regime.

On March 5, an electoral law was passed with democratic elections planned for the following month. It was hoped that the elections would finally provide legitimacy for the government. While the reformist wing of the MSZDP placed faith in elections, the left was more attracted to Bolshevism. The election campaign was plagued with outbursts of violence and on March 19 the Radical Party declared its intention to abstain. As authority slipped away from Károlyi, the MSZDP’s rationale for staying in the coalition government grew more tenuous. Hungary seemed headed towards civil war.46

Károlyi’s last hope to win support from the Allies to lift the blockade in order to shore up his government vanished on March 20. On behalf of the Entente, Lieutenant-Colonel Vix arrived in Budapest, delivering an ultimatum demanding that Hungary accept heavy territorial loses to Romania and to withdraw its troops from the frontier.47 Even more, Hungary was only given a single day to accept the terms. Károlyi knew that this marked the utter failure of his pro-Allied strategy. This left Károlyi’s government in an untenable position, leaving him no choice except to resign. Knowing that a purely socialist government would succeed him, Károlyi observed that he “was handing power over to the Hungarian proletariat.”48

However, the MSZDP leaders did not believe they could govern alone. They wanted the support of the HCP and, behind them, the military might of Soviet Russia. In the negotiations, Kun demanded that the socialists accept the Communist program and transform Hungary into a Soviet Republic. Seeing that they had no other options, the socialists agreed to Kun’s demands: the fusion of the two parties and the creation of a revolutionary soviet government. There was opposition inside the two parties to the merger, but most supported a unified party. Support for the merger came from the workers and soldiers councils in Budapest. Once the deal was accepted, Kun was released from prison and formed the revolutionary government.

No doubt speaking for others of her class, the anti-Semitic writer and aristocrat Cécile Tormay described the scene in disgust when the workers came to power in Hungary:

About seven o’clock a young journalist friend came to us, deadly pale. He closed the door quickly behind him, and looked round anxiously as if he feared he had been followed. He also looked terrified.

“Károlyi has resigned,” he said in a strained voice. “He sent Kunfi from the cabinet meeting to fetch Béla Kun from prison. Kunfi brought Béla Kun to the Prime Minister’s house in a motor car. The Socialists and Communists have come to an agreement and have formed a Directory of which Béla Kun, Tibor Szamuely, Sigmund Kunfi, Joseph Pogány  and Béla Vágó are to be the members. They are going to establish revolutionary tribunals and will make many arrests to-night. Save yourself don’t deliver yourself up to their vengeance.”

Even as he spoke, shooting started in the street outside. Suddenly I remembered my night’s vision . . . We are in the big ungainly house . . .the door handle of the last room is turning, and the last door opens . . .

An awful voice shrieked along the street :

“LONG LIVE THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE PROLETARIAT!”49

On March 21, the Hungarian Soviet Republic was proclaimed, raising the specter of the Bolshevik revolution engulfing central Europe.

Proclamation of the Hungarian Soviet Republic on March 21, 1919

The Republic of Councils

The Revolutionary Government

The first act of Soviet Hungary was the creation of a revolutionary government. The summit of power was located in the Revolutionary Governing Council (RGC). Following the Russian model, the twelve members of the RGC were known as People’s Commissars and the various branches of state as People’s Commissariats. In addition, there were twenty-one deputy commissars serving in the government. While none of the commissars were practicing Jews, twenty-eight of them came from a Jewish background, which reactionaries took as proof that the revolution was a Jewish plot.50

Anti-semitic and anti-communist poster

The revolutionary government itself had a largely socialist make-up. Out of the total of thirty-three commissars, socialists made up a majority with seventeen. However, many of these socialists were leftists such as Kunfi (Culture), Pogány (Defense), Landler (Interior), and Varga (Finance). Kun was the only communist to head a Commissariat (Foreign Affairs). Nine of the twenty-one deputy commissars were communists including Lukács (Culture), Szántó and Szamuely (Defense), Mátyás Rákosi (Commerce).51 The RGC’s president was a former MSZDP member named Sándor Garbai. Despite his position, Garbai held little actual power and the real leader of Soviet Hungary was Béla Kun.

Among the leaders of Soviet Hungary were journalists, philosophers, union activists, engineers, and professional revolutionaries, but the overwhelming majority had no prior experience in government. They not only had to contend with the immense problems left by the Hapsburgs and Károlyi, but had taken on the additional task of constructing socialism. The revolutionary government had little in the way to guide them, save the Russian experience, their Marxist education, and an almost superhuman belief in the communist future.

Economic and Social Measures

In their plans for the reorganization of industry, Kun believed that Hungary could improve upon the Bolsheviks, who originally followed a cautious approach to nationalization. To that end, the Soviet Republic nationalized all businesses employing more than twenty employees without compensation within a manner of days. Many smaller firms were spontaneously taken over by workers’ councils. By the end of April, at least 27,000 industrial enterprises were nationalized. This crash course in nationalization would have been a heroic undertaking in an advanced capitalist country, but Hungary was not only a backward one, but it faced economic collapse and possessed no planning infrastructure to integrate the industries.52 

The Soviet Republic intended for production to be run by government-appointed commissars, who would work in consultation with the workers’ councils. In practice, the economy was disorganized with a clash of authority between unions, councils, and the government. This resulted in a decline in production, rationing, and shortages.

In a series of measures to alleviate the housing shortage, the Soviet government nationalized apartments and family homes in the cities and the countryside. To the horror of the middle class and landlords, more than 100,000 homeless workers were given shelter with their rent either lowered or canceled outright.53 Over the following months, other social measures were instituted including the right to work, equal pay for equal work, an eight-hour day, paid maternity leave, higher wages (undercut by inflation), unemployment benefits, and free medical care. Due to a lack of time, most of these measures were barely carried out, if at all. However, the Soviet Republic left an impressive balance sheet of one dedicated to defending the working class.

Institutionalizing the Revolution

Early on, the revolutionary government intended to institutionalize itself by ratifying a new constitution. On March 31, delegates from a number of district councils and party organizations approved a draft constitution for the Republic of Councils. It was the second socialist constitution in the world and as a result was heavily modeled on the Russian one. The constitution declared the “Socialist Federal Soviet Republic of Hungary,” which planned to federate with other soviet republics.54 Hungary was now a “dictatorship of the proletariat” where all power was vested in the working class and the constitution granted them rights to education, democratic rights, and many aforementioned social measures. The constitution enacted the most far-reaching democracy in Hungarian history and all men and women over the age of 18 granted the right to vote, while all members of the old exploiting classes and the clergy were stripped of suffrage. The constitutional system envisioned a vast structure of soviets at the local and district level that would make the dictatorship of the proletariat a living reality. Delegates to national-level soviets were elected indirectly at meetings of the lower level soviets. Their mandate was for six months and – in the tradition of the Paris Commune – they could be recalled at any time.55 At the highest level was the National Congress of Councils, which would elect a Governing Central Committee (GCC) as the highest organ of the state. Finally, the GCC would elect the RGC that had the power to issue decrees and was technically responsible to both the National Congress of Councils and the GCC.

On the basis of the new constitution, the local soviets held elections from April 7-10. Most of the urban candidates were industrial workers and the rural ones were largely agricultural laborers. These candidates were selected based upon a single electoral list drawn up by the unified Socialist Party. This was far from being a rubber stamp election. Many of the electoral restrictions were ignored with priests, capitalists, and landlords running against the socialists. Despite being formally united, the socialists and communists jostled with each other during the election campaign for greater influence. The results of the April elections did little to institutionalize the revolution. Only about one-sixth of those elected in Budapest were communists.56 While voting was compulsory, only 30 percent of those eligible in the cities and 10-20 percent in the villages showed up to the polls.57 

In June, the National Assembly of Councils met to approve the new constitution. However, they were decidedly unrepresentative of the population. Two-thirds of the assembled delegates came from the Budapest region, and the peasantry only enjoyed scant representation. The communists composed only one-third of the delegates, but between them and the left socialists, they claimed a slim majority.58 Since the National Assembly of Councils met for such a short period of time, real authority remained in the RGC and the councils, particularly the Central Workers’ Council in Budapest. Due to the mounting external and internal crises facing Hungary, actual power came to reside more in the hands in the RGC.

Far from being a centralized totalitarian state, Soviet Hungary possessed multiple and competing centers of power such as the “united” socialist party, trade unions, Red Army, and councils. At the same time, the soviet regime faced resistance from the holdovers of the old bureaucracy, who showed little enthusiasm for the revolution or actively obstructed its directives. Perhaps with time, the revolution could have overcome these manifold problems, but time was one thing that Soviet Hungary did not have.

Hungarian Council of People’s Commissars

Power Struggle

In an April essay entitled “Party and Class,” Lukács hailed the unification of the MSZDP and the HCP as the restoration of working-class unity. According to Lukács, the unification showed that Social Democrats had “accepted without any reservations, as the basis of their activity, the communist, Bolshevik programme.”59 Furthermore, he said this was proof of the superiority of the Hungarian over the Russian Revolution because it proved “that power passed without violence and bloodshed into the hands of the proletariat.”60

In contrast to Lukács’ naiveté, Lenin was far more cautious about the fusion of the two parties. On March 23, Lenin sent a telegram to Béla Kun, where he demanded to know: “Please inform us of what real guarantees you have that the new Hungarian Government will actually be a communist, and not simply a socialist, government, i.e., one traitor-socialists.”61 Kun cabled back to Lenin that the merger was a success and assuring the Russian leader of his own paramount role in the revolutionary government as proof that the dictatorship of the proletariat had been created.62

Kun was certainly correct about his leading position in the government, but Lenin’s fears were completely justified. Many of the social democrats were late-comers to the revolution, who only supported the Soviet Republic due to expediency and not because of principle. Furthermore, due to their organizational experience, socialists tended to dominate the administrative apparatus of the party and government. As Tökés observed: “It took the Hungarian SDP just seven days to fully absorb the CP’s secretariat, agitprop apparatus and network of clandestine factory cells.”63 If anything, Bolshevik norms did not prevail in the governing party of Soviet Hungary. A left opposition of communists such Révai and Szamuely condemned the fusion as “immoral” and “spell[ing] the doom of the Soviet Republic.”64

In the unified party, Kun and the communists were a distinct minority. Before the revolution, the HCP had numbered approximately 30,000-40,000, but now they were submerged in a mass party that reached 1.5 million members.65 The new party dwarfed the pre-war social democrats as well. Many of the working-class members were no doubt enthusiastic and sincere, but also politically uneducated. No doubt many careerists found their way into the party, but on the whole this rapid expansion threatened to dilute the party’s working-class character.

Under the Soviet Republic, many new unions were organized and all their members were automatically enrolled in the party. The communists believed that this strengthened the role of the trade union bureaucracy over the working class.66 This fear was not unfounded since the union leaders did act as a brake on the radicals and kept their distance from both party and state. The growth of the unions coincided with the decline of unemployed and soldiers’ organizations, previous bastions of communist strength.67 All this meant communists had difficulty controlling the unified party organization.

The division between the socialists and communists found its way into the revolutionary government, which reduced its ability to provide clear and united leadership. In April, Kun managed to remove the distinction between deputy and full commissars, lessening the socialist majority in the RGC. This increased the number of communist commissars to thirteen out of thirty-four. At the same time, Kun also played a moderating role in the government in the hopes of gaining concessions from the socialists. As a result, he was willing to sideline radical communists: “With the cooperation of Landler, Garbai, and Bohm, Kun gradually excluded the leftists from sensitive positions in the Revolutionary Governing Council… exiling the leftists to the peripheries of power.”68 This did little to win Kun any support from the socialists and only served to alienate the communist left.

The struggle between the two factions continued at the first congress of the united party held in June. Out of a total of 327 delegates, at most 90 were communists. A majority were socialist trade union officials.69 Once more the communists were outnumbered by the socialists. Kun’s proposed program was vague enough to be adopted by the delegates without much debate. A more contentious issue arose over the party name. The socialists did not want to mimic the Russians, so they objected to the name “communist party.” A compromise was reached and the clunky name of “Party of Hungarian Socialist-Communist Workers” was adopted.

Tibor Szamuely and Béla Kun in Budapest

Another point of contention was on the issue of the dictatorship of the proletariat. Speaking for the socialists, Kunfi advocated a more “humane” approach and a retreat from terror and socialization.70 Discussion on the issues of national minorities was shelved. The socialists gained a victory when trade union delegates were granted voting rights that superseded those of party delegates. The election of the party executive committee showed the extent of communist isolation. They held only 4 seats out of 13.71 For the time being, the socialists and communists maintained an uneasy unity as the revolution faced its most desperate hour. In the end, the experience of the Hungarian Soviet Republic would see Lenin proven correct:

The evil is this: the old leaders, observing what an irresistible attraction Bolshevism and Soviet government have for the masses, are seeking (and often finding!) a way of escape in the verbal recognition of the dictatorship of the proletariat and Soviet government, although they actually either remain enemies of the dictatorship of the proletariat, or are unable or unwilling to understand its significance and to carry it into effect.72

The merger between the socialists and communists granted the former an unearned “soviet” and “revolutionary” facade, meaning that the working class remained under reformist hegemony. Due to the factionalism between the socialists and communists, the Soviet Republic provided inconsistent revolutionary leadership and its policies were often poorly conceived, driving many potential supporters into apathy, if not the camp of the counter-revolution. Coupled with the communists’ own mistakes, the shot-gun marriage with the socialists effectively tied their hands during the duration of the Soviet Republic. It was a fatal error.

The Peasantry

The majority of the peasants were hungry for land and determined to get it by any means necessary. If the new Soviet Republic wanted to stay in power and not be strictly urban-centered, then it was imperative for them to transfer land to the peasantry. This was precisely what the Bolsheviks had done two years before. However, the communists had no intention of doing so. Both the HCP and MSZDP were completely indifferent to the demands of the peasantry. Béla Kun, like Rosa Luxemburg, viewed the Bolshevik’s land reform as an unnecessary concession to the petty-bourgeois tendencies of the peasantry. Instead, the Soviet Republic favored nationalizing the land outright. This dogmatic approach to land reform was one of the shoals that doomed Soviet Hungary.

Kun and the Soviet government believed that Hungary was more advanced than Russia and could immediately create socialist agriculture. On April 3, the RGC nationalized all medium and large-scale estates, affecting more than half the land in Hungary.73 Considering it would take time to fully create state farms, cooperatives were set-up in the interim. The cooperatives needed capable administers to run them and ensure that production continued. However, the only ones with the necessary experience available to the Commissariat of Agriculture were the old bailiffs and owners. The Soviet’s appointment of their old oppressors to positions of authority provoked bitter resentment among the peasants, who believed that nothing had fundamentally changed.74

The Soviet’s policy to the countryside alienated all strata of the peasants. The landless peasants who worked on the new state farms enjoyed higher wages than before, but they were paid in worthless currency, sparking indignation and protests.75 Poor and middle peasants saw the government’s abolition of land taxes as the first step to nationalizing their holdings.76 Wealthy peasants were opposed to the revolution from the very beginning and the decree only confirmed their opposition.

In June, delegates of the National Association of Agricultural Workers opposed the Soviet Republic’s treatment of the peasantry. The main agenda of the conference contained no discussion on land redistribution or Soviet policy in the countryside, but the peasant delegates protested so loudly about them that the meeting was abruptly ended.77 Two weeks later, protests erupted once more at the National Congress of Councils. The delegates complained about the Soviet bureaucracy and the overzealous commissars, and they demanded genuine land reform. Urban communists, supposedly servants of bourgeois Jews, were condemned as alien to the peasantry.78 The conference showcased the unbridgeable chasm between the countryside and the city due to the Soviet Republic’s rural policies. In the waning days of Soviet Hungary, opposition to Kun’s peasant policy developed, but as Hajdu notes, it was too late by then: 

In the more passive Transdanubia and the area between the Danube and the Tisza it proved easier to carry through the ideas that had the support of higher authority. Later, in the final weeks of the revolution, two corps’ commanders, Landler and Pogány proposed the division of some of the land in order to increase the enthusiasm of peasant soldiers, but it was too late by then.79

However, one must keep in mind that the Soviet Republic’s approach toward the countryside was not determined solely by ideological concerns but also by short-term expediency. The population of Budapest and other urban centers were starving. The Red Army needed to be fed in order to fight. This meant that Soviet Hungary needed to find a way to feed the urban centers and the troops. While the government seized food stocks, this was not enough and it was necessary to requisition grain from the countryside. This caused resistance from the peasantry, who either hid food or destroyed it rather than surrender their stocks to the Red Guard.80

Not all the failures of Soviet Hungary in the countryside can be laid at the feet of the government. The new regime inherited a legacy of ignorance, superstition, and feudal backwardness, which could not be changed overnight. Fear of the cities and its “godless” ways was deeply ingrained among the peasantry. Peasant fears of atheistic communism seemed to be confirmed by the communist program of secularization and attacks upon the cultural power of the Catholic Church. The Red Terror and fanatical commissars sent from Budapest only made the situation worse. As a result, the landlords, army officers, and priests who led the rural counterrevolution found willing supporters among the peasantry in the struggle against the forces of “Judeo-Bolshevism.” According to William O. McCagg: 

“anti-semitism was a unifying feature of the counterrevolution in Magyar Hungary, which, oddly enough, featured efforts to bring landed gentry and peasant together on a common anti-urban ideological platform.”81

Kun and the communists’ belief that socializing agriculture would win them the support of the peasantry backfired spectacularly. They mistakenly assumed that rural class antagonisms overrode the desire for land. The communist line managed to combine the worst of both worlds: stoking fear in the wealthy peasants and alienating the poor peasants. There were few practical benefits gained in the countryside from the Soviet Republic’s laws. State farms were marked by corruption, inefficiency, and poor productivity. In many respects, Hungarian agriculture under the Soviet Republic was simply the old order painted a light shade of red. While a better approach to the peasantry would not have saved Soviet Hungary from military defeat, it would have made the victory of counter-revolution far more difficult.

Cultural Front

On March 21, Georg Lukács was in Budapest delivering a lecture entitled “Old Culture and New Culture.” During the lecture, Tibor Szamuely burst into the room and announced to the audience that the MSZDP and HCP founded the Soviet Republic. The lecture broke up as the excited crowd went out to celebrate. Only in June was Lukács able to finish his lecture, which he delivered as the inaugural address for Marx-Engels Workers’ University that he helped create. In his remarks, Lukács stated:

Liberation from capitalism means liberation from the rule of the economy. Civilization creates the rule of man over nature but in the process man himself falls under the rule of the very means that enabled him to dominate nature. Capitalism is the zenith of this domination; within it there is no class which, by virtue of its position in production, is called upon to create culture. The destruction of capitalism, i.e., communist society, grasps just these points of the question: communism aims at creating a social order in which everyone is able to live in a way that in precapitalist eras was possible only for the ruling classes and which in capitalism is possible for no class.82

By now, Lukács was People’s Commissar for Education and Culture, and he intended to realize that vision. The Hungarian Soviet Republic aimed at was nothing less than a “cultural revolution” whereby culture would be made available to the working class. The Commissariat’s rationale was as follows: “from now on the arts will not be for the sole enjoyment of the idle rich. Culture is the just due of the working people.”83

Literacy Poster

To that end, the Soviet Republic socialized the movie industry and museums. They also confiscated the bourgeoisie’s private art collections and put them on public display on June 14.84 The Commissariat passed decrees making attendance at theaters cheap and available to the public. These performances included not only works like Shakespeare, Ibsen, Hauptmann, and Shaw, but new avant-garde plays by workers.85 During the life of Soviet Hungary, concerts and lectures proliferated.

While Lukács was devoted to the communist cause, he was no cultural philistine and possessed classical tastes. He wanted to ensure that the classics were mass-produced and within easy reach of the people. The Commissariat created mobile libraries in order to deliver literature to the workers. Lukács also commissioned translations of Marx’s Capital, Shakespeare, and Dostoevsky into Hungarian. The number of books produced by Soviet Hungary was impressive. By June 1919, 3,783,000 copies of books and pamphlets were printed in Hungarian and German along with nearly 6 million more in Croatian, Romanian, Slovak, Serb, and Hebrew.86

Whether musicians, scholars, painters, intellectuals, actors, or writers, there was genuine enthusiasm for the goals of the revolution. One such was the actor Bela Lugosi, later known for his work on Dracula (1931). He was one of the organizers of the National Trade Union of Actors, set up in April. In the union’s first issue Színészek lapja (Actors’ Journal), Lugosi took issue with the view that actors were not proletarians:

It is that 95 per cent of the actors’ community has been more proletarian than the most exploited worker. After putting aside the glamorous trappings of his trade at the end of each performance, an actor had, with few exceptions, to face worry and poverty. He was obliged either to bend himself to stultifying odd jobs to keep body and soul together … or he had to sponge off his friends, get into debt or prostitute his art. And he endured it, endured the poverty, the humiliation, the exploitation, just so that he could continue to be an actor, to get parts, for without them he could not live. Actors were exploited no less by the private capitalist managers than they were by the state …The actor, subsisting on starvation wages and demoralized, was often driven, albeit reluctantly, to place himself at the disposal of the former ruling classes. Martyrdom was the price of enthusiasm for acting.87

Lugosi was one of the thousands of cultural workers who saw the Hungarian Soviet Republic as the chance to make art that was no longer subjected to the imperatives of capital and to instead use their creativity to serve the people. There is little wonder why so many cultural workers, including Lugosi, were forced to emigrate after the Republic collapsed.

Béla Lugosi

Despite the short life span of Soviet Hungary, it was one of the pioneers in revolutionary film production. Under director Sándor Korda, forty films were completed ranging from ones based on works with strong progress content by Maxim Gorky, Alexander Dumas, Victor Hugo, and Upton Sinclair. Other films produced included newsreels and communist agitprop.88 In April, a Proletarian Academy was set up, headed by writer and stage manager Dezső Orbán with the goal of training workers for a socialist film industry. One film the academy produced was the agitprop film Tegnap (Yesterday), which was written and directed by Orbán.89

One of the ways that the Soviet Republic promoted its revolutionary goals was the use of colorful posters. According to Robert Dent, the poster was ideally suited to this task:

During the 1919 Hungarian Soviet Republic, the poster functioned as the propaganda means par excellence. Its striking power of expression and exhortation involving red, with figures in dramatic poses was recognised as being worth more than a thousand words. Revolutionary placards were everywhere, on almost every wall of almost every street. The quantity is difficult to imagine today. A large proportion were in colour, and red certainly dominated. Each had a clear message to convey and pictorially was simply presented.90

One of the biggest cultural displays of Soviet Hungary occurred on May First – International Workers Day – when Budapest was covered in red. Few expenses were spared as the RGC commissioned musicians, sculptors, writers, actors, and other artistic professions to create a true festival of communism. Slogans, posters, songs, banners, statues, and poems were located everywhere in Budapest for the historic day. A half-million marched through the city that day in a festival of the oppressed. Considering that the Soviet Republic was barely a month old and facing military disaster, the May Day celebrations showed the genuine enthusiasm of the new regime to the arts.91

Soviet Hungary not only raised the cultural level of adults but ensured the education of the next generation. Therefore, all schools were nationalized, tuition fees were abolished, and education was made free and compulsory for all until the age of 14. The Soviet Republic also instituted laws promising free medical care for all children. Schooling was taken out of the hands of the Church and controlled by the State. Lukács said it was a point of pride that children began their days with breakfast, not prayers.92 The curriculum was reorganized, dropping classical languages and emphasizing instead modern languages, and natural and physical sciences. The history curriculum was radically restructured with a new focus on class struggle, internationalism, and Marxism. Teachers were given pay raises and hastily instructed in the works of Marx, Engels, and Bukharin. The Soviet Republic believed that teachers were vital to the creation of future citizens with communist virtues. According to Commissar Kunfi: “The schools from now on will become, through the efforts of teachers, the most important institution for the training of socialism.”93

One of the most innovative education measures the Soviet Republic introduced was sex education for primary school students. To the revulsion of the bourgeoisie, children were instructed in free love, the nature of sex, and the archaic nature of the traditional family. According to one critic, Victor Zitta, the Soviet Republic’s educational policy was “something perverse” and that Lukács was a “fanatic . . . bent on destroying the established social order.”94 The hasty introduction of sex education and the severe backlash it resulted in its removal from the curriculum.95 

There were severe limitations to the Hungarian cultural revolution. Due to the ever-present threat of counterrevolution, the Soviet government censored publications. Many of its cultural programs and ideas were ad hoc and too ambitious to be implemented during the brief existence of Soviet Hungary. To many of its conservative critics, the Soviet government accomplished nothing when it came to culture. The reactionary Cécile Tormay said Marxists like Lukács “kill literature in Hungary.”96 Even as the official Commissar for Culture and Education, Kunfi condemned Lukács’ approach for showing “an absolute barrenness of our cultural life.”97

These criticisms were decidedly unfair. For all its mistakes, the Hungarian cultural revolution was truly innovative. Far from destroying culture, commissars like Lukács were truly committed to ensuring that the people finally had access to it. The Soviet Republic did not impose a rigid Stalinist-style orthodoxy but rather allowed a hundred flowers to bloom. Lukács believed that everything, save openly counterrevolutionary works, should be promoted:

The People’s Commissar for Education and Culture is not going to officially support any kind of literature tied to a particular line or party. The Communist cultural programme only makes a distinction between good and bad literature, and is not prepared to throw out Shakespeare or Goethe on account of their not being socialist authors. But neither is it prepared to let loose dilettantism in art, under the pretext of socialism. The Communist cultural programme stands for the highest and purest art reaching the proletariat and is not going to allow its taste to be corrupted by editorial poetry badly used for political purposes. Politics is only the means, culture is the goal.98

In the end, Soviet Hungary showed the real potential that socialism offered in creating a new culture.

‘Long live the proletarian dictatorship!’ Temporary communist monument in Budapest

Red Terror

From its inception, the Hungarian Soviet Republic faced real threats from both internal and external counter-revolution. Based on the recent experiences of Russia, Germany, and Finland, Kun believed that terror was necessary:

If you want our revolution to avoid bloodshed, to cost only the minimum of sacrifice, and to be as humane as possible- although for us there is no supra-class “humanity” – then it is necessary to act in such a way that the dictatorship is exercised with the utmost firmness and vigour . . . . Unless we annihilate the counter-revolution, unless we wipe out those who rise up with guns against us, then it will be they who will murder us, massacre the proletariat, and leave us with no future at all.99

The suppression of counter-revolutionary revolts was the task of the Red Army. To institute terror on the home front, the old judiciary was swept away and replaced with revolutionary tribunals. The revolutionary tribunals drew their membership overwhelmingly from the working class: 90 percent of the revolutionary tribunal’s members in Budapest were workers and in the provinces, more than 75 percent of their membership were either workers or peasants. The tribunals mostly focused on severe crimes such as murder and theft, but they had the added duties of defending the Soviet Republic against conspiracies and counter-revolutionary agitation.100 However, the tribunals did not dispense summary justice. Defendants were entitled to legal defense. Many of the new lawyers were drawn from the working class. Of the 4,000 condemned by the tribunals, only a quarter was convicted of counter-revolutionary activities. Another quarter was convicted for violating the prohibition on alcohol and the majority of them were simply fined. In total, only 27 were executed following the tribunals’ verdicts.

Considering the desperate circumstances facing Soviet Hungary, the tribunals were often an encumbrance to carrying out terror. On April 21, the government allowed Szamuely, Commissar of War to bypass the tribunals and he was granted vast powers to use to safeguard the revolution: “in the service of this objective, to rely on every  possible instrument, including doing without revolutionary tribunals.”101 Similarly to Trotsky, Szamuely was a man of action who traveled on an armored train throughout the countryside to dispense summary justice.

Tibor Szamuely

Szamuely’s squad also carried out requisitions of food and livestock to relieve the food shortage in the cities. While Szamuely’s cadre were generally disciplined and honest in their actions, they were an exception to the rule. Other communists kept the peasants in a state of constant terror with hangings and requisitions. As word of these excesses reached Budapest, Kun and the other commissars tried to rein them in, but their orders were often ignored.102

To complement Szamuely’s efforts, Commissar of Internal Affairs Ottó Korvin created a 500-member political police force. The secret police largely functioned autonomously and relied on a network of spies among the working class to keep a close watch on suspected enemies. The “Hungarian Cheka” was a feared agency that carried out preventive arrests, torture, and seized hostages.103

Affiliated to the Cheka and acting as Szamuely’s personal guard were the much-dreaded “Lenin’s Boys,” who acted as muscle against the counterrevolution. Lenin’s Boys were under the command of József Cserny and composed of approximately 200 devoted workers, communists, and sailors. The unit had their own distinctive style with leather jackets, scarfs, thick scaly caps, and an almost romantic swagger. Among both the peasantry and the bourgeoisie, Lenin’s Boys had a reputation for blood-lust and depravity. According to Cécile Tormay, they were “a gang organized for common wholesale murder and robbery.”104 They were accused of wanton torture and murdering the bulk of the 500 victims of the Red Terror. The fearsome image of Lenin’s Boys was more a product of myth than reality. According to Tibor Hijadu, the acts of terror carried out by Lenin’s Boys was quite mild: 

These  leather-jacketed ‘terrorists’, who looked most romantic, no doubt did much more to curb the counter-revolution than the Red Guard, thanks also to the bloody rumours spread about their deeds. The truth is they killed altogether 12 people other than such as had been condemned to  death by a court, including three gendarme officers who had taken part in  counter-revolutionary conspiracies, and, at the start of the Rumanian attack when they collected hostages from the ranks of the bourgeoisie, three well-known politicians, two earlier Secretaries of State — the Holláns — and Lajos Návay, who had been Chairman of the House of Representatives.105

Still, moderate social democrats in the government such as Vilmos Böhm were dismayed and outraged at the Red Terror. To them, it appeared more as an excuse to loot and plunder than a defense of the revolution. By late April, the socialists presented an ultimatum to Kun to cut back arbitrary police measures or risk a split with the trade unions. Kun gave in to their demands. The police detectives dismissed by Korvin were reinstated, the Lenin Boys were disbanded, and control of the secret police and Red Guard was transferred to the socialist József Haubrich.106

Kun’s appointment of Haubrich would prove to be a stroke of good luck. In June, counterrevolutionary forces composed of ex-officers, war veterans, and cadets planned an anti-communist coup. After learning that the socialists under Böhm were planning their own insurrection for the same day, they launched their own putsch first. The coup failed to attract support from either the factory workers or the Red Guard. Haubrich made sure that Red Guard remained loyal to the government. Due to a complete lack of coordination among the coup plotters, the uprising was crushed within a day. In response to the June 24 coup, radical communists demanded the creation of a powerful Cheka and true red terror. Both Kun and the socialists equivocated on those demands. The socialists preferred to show leniency to the coup plotters. Szamuely and Korvin were incensed and reconstituted Lenin’s Boys, but the unit was quickly disarmed and dispersed.

Lenin’s Boys

As the Soviet Republic approached its final days in July, the proliferation of coup attempts took on ridiculous proportions. One effort was led by Szamuely, with Kun’s implied support, which planned to overthrow the socialists and create a truly communist government.107 Their preparations were cut short when another coup plot led by 200 anarchists financed by Ukrainian officers was uncovered. The abortive anarchist coup was quickly dispersed on July 19.108

While the communists were correct that force must be met with force, Red Terror did not save the Soviet Republic. In fact, the Red Terror was carried out in a contradictory and confused manner and subject to the shifting politics in Budapest. However, atrocity stories of the Soviet Republic were largely the product of the counterrevolutionary imagination, who believed that godless Jews were ravaging innocent Hungary. Certainly, it is true that many communist commissars did have fantasies of bloody retribution and at least 500 people were killed.109 However, the Red Terror was not indiscriminate and targeted enemies with weapons in hand. According to Béla Bodó: “In Hungary, the political violence during the Council Republic was focused: the great majority of the victims of the Red Terror died with arms in their hands or were executed shortly after the suppression of uprisings.”110 Far more deadly was the White Terror that followed the overthrow of Soviet Hungary. Fired by a frenzied hatred of “Judeo-Bolshevism,” mobs of soldiers such as those led by Pál Prónay, put the Red Terror to shame. The White Terror launched a campaign of torture, humiliations and summary executions across Hungary against communists and Jews which killed upwards of 4,000.111

“Long Live the World Revolution!” May Day in Budapest, 1919

World Revolution

a. The Beachhead

When speaking before the Budapest Workers’ Council on March 19, MSZDP leader Sándor Garbai asked the executive to endorse the creation of a Soviet Republic. According to Garbai, the pro-Entente policies of both Károlyi and the socialists had failed Hungary, leaving them only with Russia for aid:

We must obtain from the East what has been denied to us by the West. We must join the stream of new events. The army of the Russian proletariat is approaching rapidly. A bourgeois government…will not be able to cope with these new developments…Therefore, we must bring about peace between the Social Democrats and the Communist Party, create a Socialist government, and institute the dictatorship of the proletariat…[then] we shall announce to the entire world that the proletariat of this country has taken the guidance of Hungary and at the same time offered its fraternal alliance to the Soviet Russian government.112 

Garbai’s argument won over the Budapest Workers’ Council without debate.

In March 1919, Hungary was completely isolated and alone in Central Europe, facing hostile imperialist and local powers. For the socialists, as much as army officers, a military alliance with Soviet Russia was seen as the only way to save Hungary. To symbolize the pro-Russian orientation of the Council Republic, Béla Kun was given the position of Commissar of Foreign Affairs. Both the socialists and communists hoped that Kun could secure Russian military and diplomatic assistance.
While Kun worked diligently to secure Russian help, he believed that Soviet Hungary could not survive in the long-term without international proletarian solidarity. On the day after the formation of the Soviet Republic, Kun outlined this vision in his address “To Everyone”:

[Soviet Hungary] declares its complete theoretical and spiritual union with the Russian Soviet government and welcomes an armed alliance with the proletariat of Russia. It sends its brotherly greetings to the workers of England, France, Italy and the United States. It calls on them not to tolerate, even for a minute, the horrid gangster war of the their capitalist governments against the Hungarian Soviet Republic. It calls the workers and peasants of the Czechoslovak state, Rumania. Serbia and Croatia to join in an armed alliance against the bourgeoisie, against the great landlords, and against the great dynasties. It calls on the workers of German-Austria and Germany to follow the example of the Hungarian working class, to completely break their ties with Paris, to join in an alliance with Moscow, to establish soviet republics and to oppose the conquering imperialists with weapons in their hands.113

It was Kun’s hope that working-class solidarity, strikes, and sabotage in the Entente countries and Romania would halt military operations against Hungary. Even more, he wanted Hungary to spread world revolution. This was a realistic gamble since central Europe was simmering with proletarian revolution in 1919. At this time, there was real hope for a socialist revolution in Germany since a Bavarian Soviet Republic was formed in early April. If Soviet Hungary joined together with Soviet Bavaria, then they could prevail. It was Kun’s intention to instigate a working-class uprising in Austria in order to secure the central European revolution. Together, the proletarian dictatorships in Austria, Hungary, and Germany would not only end the isolation of Soviet Russia, but defeat the Entente and spread socialism across the continent. 

‘Join the Red Army!’

b. Austria

In many respects, the conditions in Austria were similar to those in Hungary. In November 1918, the Hapsburg Empire collapsed in Austria and the old Imperial Army was replaced by a People’s Militia or Volkswehr, a working-class militia who wore red cockades. Workers’ and soldiers’ councils were created alongside a bourgeois government. The moderate Austrian Social Democratic Party (SDAPÖ) dominated both the councils and was in a coalition with liberals in the new republican government. Like the MSZDP, the SDAPÖ used their influence among the masses to curb the revolution and stabilize a parliamentary democracy. According to leading SDAPÖ member and Foreign Minister Otto Bauer, the social democrats was uniquely suited for this task:

Only the Social Democrats could have safely handled such an unprecedentedly difficult situation, because they – enjoyed the confidence of the working masses. . . .Only the Social Democrats could have stopped peacefully the stormy demonstrations by negotiation and persuasion. Only the Social Democrats could have guided the people’s army and curbed the revolutionary adventures the working masses. . . . The profound shake-up of the bourgeois social order was expressed in that a bourgeois government, a government without the participation in it of the Social Democrats, had simply become unthinkable.114

The chances for a proletarian dictatorship in Austria were high in 1918 and 1919, but the SDAPÖ decided against it. Otto Bauer wrote a letter to Béla Kun on June 16, 1919, explaining why SDAPÖ decided against creating the dictatorship of the proletariat. Bauer explained that Austria could not supply itself with food in the event of an Entente blockade and they could not rely upon Russian aid. Secondly, an Austrian Soviet Republic would likely provoke military intervention that they could not survive due to their weakened army. Lastly, the peasantry were opposed to revolution and would turn against Vienna, precipitating a bloody civil war.115 Every point Bauer raised was a real concern, but he forgot one thing: revolutions require a willingness to risk everything in order to win. In forfeiting their chance at a socialist revolution in Austria, the SDAPÖ doomed Soviet Hungary to defeat. As the Austrian revolutionary Ilona Duczyńska concluded:

…the final rejection of any seizure of power by the proletariat, again on the grounds of subjugation and destitution, occurred at an historical juncture in which the formation of a block of revolutionary states might have been possible. In such a framework, German-Austria, with its very considerable stocks of armaments, could have been the bridge between two Councils’ Republics: the Bavarian and the Hungarian, which were struggling valiantly at the very borders of Austria, but in isolation.116

Even though the SDAPÖ were averse to following the Hungarian example there were revolutionaries who were eager to do so. The most important was the Communist Party of Austria (KPÖ), formed on November 3, 1918 under the leadership of Elfriede Friedlander (later known as Ruth Fischer) and Franz Koritschoner. The KPÖ was smaller than its Hungarian sister party and it was overshadowed by the SDAPÖ. The communists’ small amount of influence was largely confined to radical soldiers, the unemployed, a minority in the workers’ council of Vienna.

Amongst the Austrian workers was a strong sense of sympathy for the Hungarian Soviet Republic. On March 23, the Central Workers’ Council of Vienna published a resolution declaring their sympathy for the Hungarians, but refused to follow their example:

You have appealed to us to follow your example. We would do this wholeheartedly, but we cannot do so at this time. There is no more food in our country. Even our scarce bread rations depend entirely on the food trains sent by the Entente. For this reason, we are enslaved to the Entente. If we were to follow your advice today, the Entente capitalists would cut off our last provisions with cruel mercilessness and leave us to starvation…Our dependence on the Entente is total . . .

Long live international workers’ solidarity!117

While Austria was willing to maintain trade relations with Soviet Hungary and even offer verbal support to the revolution, that was as far as they were willing to go. Not all Austrians were willing to stand paralyzed with inaction before the Entente, however. Approximately 1,200 Austrians volunteered for the Hungarian Red Army with a third of them dying, including Leo Rothziegel of the Viennese Soldiers’ Council.118

Despite the KPÖ’s small size, they were determined to take power in order to aid the Hungarians. On April 18, the communists launched a putsch in Vienna. Several hundred armed demonstrators attempted to set fire to parliament. In the ensuing firefight with the Volkswehr, approximately 10 were killed and a further 30 were wounded.119 It proved to be an utter fiasco.

Undeterred by failure and widely exaggerating the revolutionary situation that existed in Vienna, Kun wanted to push events along. Soon, the Hungarian embassy in Vienna became a center of revolutionary propaganda. In May, Kun sent Ernö Bettelheim to work with the KPÖ and finance their activities.120 Abusing his position, Bettelheim took it upon himself to usurp the leadership of the KPÖ by proclaiming himself the official emissary of the newly-formed Communist International, who was charged with organizing an Austrian Revolution.

Bettelheim planned another coup for mid-June in order to coincide with the National Assembly of Councils in Budapest and the Red Army’s offensive into Slovakia.121 A pretext for the uprising came when the Entente demanded that the Volkswehr be reduced by onefourth. The KPÖ successfully organized a number of demonstrations against the pay reduction. Alarmed, the Austrian government persuaded the Entente to rescind their demands. Buoyed by their triumph, the KPÖ went ahead with plans for an uprising on June 15. Warned of communist plans, the Social-Democrats arrested the KPÖ leadership on June 14. Bettelheim escaped the dragnet and remained at liberty. Soon, Vienna was flooded with leaflets calling for insurrection:

The hour for the emancipation of the proletariat has come! . . .

On Sunday the 15th. of June at 10 a.m. the revolutionary workers will demonstrate for the setting up of a soviet dictatorship, against hunger and exploitation, for social revolution!

Every member of the People’s Militia has the duty to participate in this demonstration with weapon in hand…

Long Live the Soviet Republic of German Austria.122

The Workers’ Council of Vienna and the Volkswehr opposed calls for revolt. On June 15, only five to ten thousand came out in the streets of Vienna in support of the KPÖ. The demonstrators attempted to release their comrades from prison, but they were met by the police. After 20 were killed, the communist demonstration was defeated. Comintern representative Karl Radek was scathing in his criticism of Bettelheim’s actions: “The messiah of the Budapest bureau of propaganda did not have a glimmer of the meaning of communism; every word of his charge against the German-Austrian Communist Party proves this… The vanguard of the German-Austrian proletariat, the communists, frustrated during the June days the putschist tactic of the Bettelhelms. They did not plunge themselves into the adventure of the Soviet Republic without Soviets.”123 The coup was not only a disaster for the KPÖ, but the end of Kun’s dreams of spreading revolution to the west.

Communist coup attempt in Vienna on June 15, 1919

c. The National Question and Romania

Kun wished that the various successor states of the Austrio-Hungarian Empire would support Hungary. To show that the Soviet Hungary had repudiated Magyar nationalism, the revolutionary government proclaimed its internationalist ideology and adopted the communist red flag as its “national flag.”124 Béla Kun even went so far as renouncing the principle of Hungarian territorial integrity. While these gestures were sincere, Soviet Hungary failed to adequately deal with the nationality problem they inherited from the Hapsburgs.

The Hungarian constitution outlawed national and racial oppression, and supported cultural autonomy for all nationalities. There was an uneasy mix of nationalism and internationalism in the constitution with the latter taking precedence. According to Tibor Hajdu: “The Hungarian Soviet Republic took the principle of the self-determination of peoples as its basic stance, but this principle was applied to concord with the conception of world revolution.”125 Thus, the Soviet Republic’s treatment of different nationalities was inconsistent to say the least. On the one hand, Germans were able to gain autonomy while the Slovenes lost theirs. On the other hand, Translyvanians were condemned as “hirelings of Rumanian boyars” and denied autonomy.126 The Croats were also denied cultural autonomy and complained about chauvinistic behavior emanating from Budapest. Their concerns were ignored, meaning that counterrevolutionaries had greater sympathy in Croat territories.127 As a result, its internationalist efforts remained limited and the Hungarians were unable to win over sizable numbers of non-Hungarians inside and outside its borders.  

When it came to nationalities, the question of Romania loomed large. Romania was an immediate threat, militarily aided by the Entente and its troops were deep inside Hungarian territory. Wounded national pride about Entente support for Romania had brought the Soviet Republic to power and motivated many of the officers and soldiers of the Red Army. The communists also opposed Romania since it was openly counter-revolutionary, fighting against soviet power in both Hungary and Russia. However, sympathy for Soviet Hungary existed in the Romanian labor movement. In April, Romanian railroad workers launched a general strike against intervention leading to hundreds of arrests.128 Yet most Romanian socialists were opposed to Bolshevism and severed ties with Budapest.129

A small minority of Romanians based in Hungary were attracted to communism, and in November 1918, they formed the Romanian Communist group in Budapest. In early 1919, they began operating in Romania, organizing peasants and returning veterans in Oradea. The Romanian communists received scant support from the HCP and they alienated the peasantry by attacking the church and downplaying the importance of nationalism.130 As a result, they were largely unsuccessful in their efforts.

When the Hungarian Soviet Republic was formed, the Romanian Communist group hailed it as the harbinger of world revolution. Unfortunately, Romanians suffered a great deal of Magyar chauvinism. This hampered the Communist group’s effort to organize Romanian volunteers for the Red Army.131 On June 8-9, Romanian Communists in Budapest “complained that Magyar chauvinism had not disappeared from the Socialist movement in Hungary and that they as Romanians were continually subjected to discrimination.”132 The Romanians insisted that Hungarian socialists live up to their egalitarian convictions and treat them as equals. A few days later Hungary declared itself a federal republic and the Romanian communists were promised organizational autonomy, a split between the two nationalities was avoided. This gesture was too late since there was little growth in the Romanian Communist Group during the final weeks of the Soviet Republic. In the end, the Hungarian Soviet Republic’s confused approach to the national question and its lingering chauvinism meant it failed to win over large numbers of Romanians to its cause.

d. Slovak Soviet Republic

Czechoslovakia was one of the neighboring states that was at war with Hungary. While the Czech Social-Democrats supported Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk’s government and the war effort, the war was unpopular not in Slovakia, which had a large Hungarian minority.133 Opposition to the war manifested itself in demonstrations and draft resistance. In response, the Czechoslovak government imposed martial law and arrested real and suspected communists en masse.

Considering the large number of Slovaks living in Hungarian borders, Kun believed it was imperative to win their support. To that end, a joint Czech and Slovak committee was organized in Budapest under the Czech journalist Antonín Janoušek on March 27. The committee also had the mission to recruit Czechs and Slovaks for the Hungarian Red Army.134 This only achieved moderate success with 200 Czechs joining the International Brigade of the Red Army. A final goal of the committee was to spread proletarian revolution to Czechoslovakia itself.

On May 20, the Hungarians launched a major offensive against the Czechoslovaks. Even though the Romanians posed a larger threat, a number of factors determined their decision to move against Czechoslovakia. First, the Hungarians believed that the Czechoslovaks were militarily weaker than the Romanians. Second, Czechoslovakia had a larger industrial working class than Romania, whom the Hungarians expected to welcome their troops as liberators. Finally several industrial regions in Nógrád and Borsod in Czechoslovakia were considered essential to the health of Hungary’s economy.

The Hungarian offensive went well and the Red Army occupied large swaths of Slovakia. On June 16, the Slovak Soviet Republic was created with its capital in Kassa. The Slovak Soviet Republic was clearly a Hungarian creation. The Revolutionary Governing Council was headed by Janoušek and other Slovak communists from Budapest staffed the government. No plans were made for Slovak self-determination and new state planned to federate with Soviet Republics in Russia, Hungary, Ukraine and Czech lands.135 The Slovak Soviet Republic passed decrees nationalizing industry and large estates, granting universal suffrage for workers, abolishing debts for small farmers, and creating old-age pensions. All decrees were published in regional dialects so that ordinary people could understand the new laws. A rudimentary Slovak Red Army numbering 3,000 was also hastily created.136 The fact that the Slovak Soviet Republic had been imposed by Hungarian guns more than local revolutionaries meant it had a very thin basis of popular support.

Hungarian Red Army in Budapest

Despite the successes of the Hungarian Red Army, their supply lines overextended and its morale dropped as they occupied a hostile population. It was clear Hungary could not maintain itself in Slovakia for the long-term. The Entente was frightened at the Hungarian advances into Slovakia and wanted them to withdraw. On June 16, French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau sent a message to Budapest, promising that Romania would evacuate Hungarian territories in exchange for the Red Army’s withdrawal from Slovakia. Considering the critical situation at home, the socialists demanded acceptance of Clemenceau’s terms. Like the Bolsheviks at Brest-Litovsk, Kun believed that it was necessary to buy time and agreed to pull the Red Army out. In early July, the Red Army retreated from its captured territories and the Slovak Soviet Republic left with it. Kun’s decision ended up being a fatal strategic error. The pull out not only damaged Hungarian national pride, but led to many desertions from the Red Army. The agreement did not end the war. In July, the Czechs and Romanians violated the agreement and renewed attacks on the Hungarians. Only weeks later, the Hungarian Soviet Republic collapsed.

e. Russia

Mere days before Károlyi resigned, he informed his cabinet that “in the judgment of the government’s military experts that it would be only a matter of weeks before the Russian Red Army would break through the Romanian lines and reach the eastern boundaries of Hungary.”137 Liberals, nationalists, and communists all hoped that the Russian Red Army would rescue Hungary.

For their part, Soviet Russia wanted to do everything possible in order to reach Budapest. However, the Romanian army not only stood in the way, but fighting in the Russian Civil War was at its height. Undaunted, Lenin ordered Vladimir Antonov-Ovseenko, the commander of the Ukrainian Red Army to halt his advance towards the Black Sea and move to southeastern Galicia in order to reach the Hungarians. Instead, the Red Army captured Odessa, then advanced on Moldova and Bessarabia, hoping to reach Hungary that way. Lenin demanded that the Ukrainian Soviet to have the Red Army attack Galicia, but once again he was ignored. On April 25, Lenin bypassed the Ukrainian Soviet and ordered Antonov-Ovseenko directly to launch the original plan of attack.138

The Red Army offensive was launched on May 7. Finally, as Kun had hoped, Russian deliverance was on its way. Unfortunately, disaster struck the following day when Partisan forces under Ataman Grigoriev switched sides and began fighting the Ukrainian Red Army. The partisans cut off the Red Army’s supply lines and bogged them down in heavy fighting. It took until the end of May before the partisans were defeated, only for the Red Army to be immediately confronted with a renewed offensive by the White General Anton Denikin.139 By late June, Denikin pushed the Red Army so far back that there was no chance they could reach Hungary.

The Entente and Versailles

In January 1919, the “Big Four” Entente leaders of David Lloyd George (Britain), Vittorio Orlando (Italy), Georges Clemenceau (France), and Woodrow Wilson (USA) arrived in Versailles to determine the fate of both defeated Germany and the shape of postwar Europe. Even as the delegates discussed the intricacies of the treaty, discussions were dominated by foreign affairs, particularly by the Russian Revolution. According to Arno Mayer “the Paris Peace Conference made a host of decisions, all of which, in varying degrees, were designed to check Bolshevism.”140

Despite the end of the war only months before, the Entente had not laid down their arms. The Allies had all sent troops and aid to the counterrevolutionary armies fighting the Bolsheviks. To keep communism from spreading, the Allies supported new nations in Eastern Europe as cordon sanitaire. Despite this counteroffensive, the Russian example inspired labor unrest and revolution throughout the European continent. The Entente also maintained blockades of food and other supplies as a form of blackmail against Germany, Hungary, and Austria in order to contain the “Bolshevik contagion.”

The Entente’s plans backfired in the case of Hungary. Both the blockade and the Vix Note had brought Béla Kun to power. Now there was a real danger that Bolshevism would spread further west. While Clemenceau favored direct military intervention against Hungary, David Lloyd George and President Woodrow Wilson favored a diplomatic solution. Kun gambled on an international revolution, but he was acutely aware of Hungary’s isolated position and the need to buy time. In one of his first statements, Kun offered an olive branch to the Entente: “The government stands for peace and wants to live in peace with all the world. Our road leads to true peace because we strive for an understanding of the peoples and not for the conclusion of military alliances.”141 Even though the Entente distrusted Kun, it seemed possible to reach a modus operandi with Hungary.

On April 4-5, the Allies sent South African General Jan Smuts to Budapest on a fact-finding mission and to meet with Kun. The soviet leader had a favorable impression on Smuts, who declared: “I liked Kun.”142 The Allies seemed open to moderating the Vix Note’s harsh demands and lifting the economic blockade. For his part, Kun appeared willing to bargain. Károlyi was astonished at the Entente’s concession and wrote bitterly from his self-imposed retirement: “Within a week the attitude in Paris towards Hungary had changed. … The Peace Conference sent General Smuts to negotiate. So what my Government had not been able to obtain in five months was granted to the Communists after a week.”143

Despite the promising meeting, no agreement was reached. Kun was not willing to commit and saw talks with Smuts as only the first step to further negotiations. Second, Kun could only accept the Entente’s proposal by undermining his own political position. Just three weeks before, Kun had come to power in defiance of the Entente’s demands. Third, there was no guarantee that the Entente would recognize Soviet Hungary. Fourth, at the time Kun was unwilling to make a “Brest-Litovsk” retreat like the Bolsheviks. He still expected an immediate outbreak of world revolution. And finally, Kun doubted the Allies’ sincerity and expected military intervention in any case. The Red Army was already arming and the day after Smuts left a recruiting rally of several hundred thousand was held in Budapest.144

On the last point, Kun was correct. While Smuts advocated for negotiating with Hungary, he was ignored by the Big Four. The Allies did not want to negotiate with Kun or grant Soviet Hungary any political legitimacy. The Entente had no intention of reaching any agreement with Soviet Hungary. Despite divisions among the Big Four on the best way to deal with Béla Kun, there was no disagreement on the end: the destruction of Soviet Hungary. According to Mayer: “Admittedly, [the Paris Conference of 1919] never elaborated and implemented a coherent plan for the strangulation of the Hungarian Soviet. On this issue, as on most others, the Big Four were far from unanimous. Their differences, however, were not over intervention as such. Within a broad anti-Bolshevik consensus they merely differed about the strategy, tactics, and scope of intervention.”145 Ultimately, they decided to use Romania as their military proxy. On April 6, French General Franchet d’Esperey arrived in Bucharest and reached an agreement with the Romanian army to begin operations as soon as possible. Ten days later, the Romanian offensive began.

Downfall

After coming to power, the Soviet leadership knew that they stood no chance against the Romanians or the Entente without a well-equipped, trained and disciplined army. One of the revolutionary government’s first measures was the creation of a Red Army. During its first few weeks, the Red Army was largely a phantom force. A lot of this can be attributed to the first Commissar of Defense, József Pogány. Pogány was extremely unpopular with his deputy Commissars Szamuely and Szántó. At the beginning of April, he was replaced by Vilmos Böhm.146

József Pogány speaking to Red Army soldiers

It is under Böhm that the Hungarian Red Army truly took shape. While the Red Army inherited 60,000 troops from the old army, most of those units were an advanced state of decay and needed to be reorganized. The Red Army could count on small numbers of volunteers drawn from the working class. These volunteers were devoted to the revolutionary cause, but they lacked both training and experience. To staff the Red Army, Böhm allowed all officers from the old regime to continue their service. Most of the officer corps came from the landlord class and there were justified fears that they would betray the Soviet Republic. Borrowing from the Russian example, the Red Army instituted a system of political commissars to ensure the loyalty of the officers. Some of the commissars, such as Lukács (assigned to the Red Army’s Fifth Division) were dedicated and brave, but most were incompetent and only added to the Red Army’s difficulties. By the time the Romanians launched their offensive, the Red Army was short of ammunition and medical supplies but had a fighting force of approximately 55,000.147

However, the Hungarians were out-manned and outgunned. The Romanians outnumbered them two to one and the Czechs three to one. The Romanians especially were armed by the Entente. The opening days of the war saw them both make major advances. The Romanians seized Nagyvárad and Debrecen. The Czechs took Sátoraljaújhely and continued to advance deeper into Hungary. At the end of April, the two armies linked up. The Romanians pressed onward and reached the River Tisza in early May. The Hungarians were disorganized and the Red Army lacked the same revolutionary determination as the Russians.

Believing that the Soviet Republic would be overthrown soon, Hungarian aristocrats and capitalists backed by the French created a “government-in-waiting.” On May 5, a “National Government” headed by Count Gyula Károlyi (a cousin of the liberal Mihaly Károlyi) was set up. The new minister of war was Admiral Miklós Horthy (future dictator of Hungary), who proceeded to organize a “National Army.” They were ready to not only move into the chambers of government in Budapest, but to take their revenge on the working class.

May Day Poster

As Budapest celebrated May Day, it appeared that the Soviet Republic was on the verge of collapse and Kun planned to resign. The following day, Kun told the RGC that the fighting ability of the Red Army was non-existent. Most of the RGC were resolved to fight on, but Kun believed that was not enough. Kun took the appeal to continue the war directly to the Budapest Workers’ Council and the Hungarian proletariat. He believed that unless the workers were willing to fight to the last drop of blood that Budapest would fall. He posed the question starkly: “The issue my dear comrades, whether we should hand over Budapest, or fight for it; whether the proletariat of Budapest should fight to maintain the dictatorship of the proletariat in Budapest?”148 The Budapest Workers’ Council announced the slogan: “Be a Vörös Hadseregbe!” (“Join the Red Army!”). The steelworkers union resolved to defend Budapest. Bright red recruitment posters filled the capital. Dedicated workers flocked to the Red Army. In mid-May, The Red Army had an additional 44,000 men were under arms for a total of 120,000. By early June, the Red Army’s strength peaked at 200,000 men.149 

The workers’ revolutionary flair translated into victories on the battlefield.  On May 20, the Red Army defeated the Czechs and liberated Miskolc and other places in the northeast. The Hungarian offensive continued into Czechoslovakia itself with the capture of Kassa on June 6. The Red Army had the Romanians bogged down and eventually forced them to retreat. In early June, Hungary had regained territories on its old borders and seemed poised for further advances.

However, Hungary could not hope to prevail against their combined foes in the long run and needed to end the fighting. As mentioned earlier, Kun accepted Clemenceau’s June 13 memorandum to withdraw from Czechoslovak territories in return for ending the war. The Red Army’s commanders opposed withdrawal since the memorandum offered no guarantees that the Romanians would withdraw. In protest, Böhm resigned and was succeeded by Jenő Landler as Commander-in-Chief of the Red Army. Aurél Stromfeld resigned as the Chief of Staff and was replaced by Ferenc Julier. Both Böhm and Stromfeld were correct. While an armistice was signed with Czechoslovakia on June 24, the Romanians had no intention of ending the war.150

At the beginning of July, Soviet Hungary had lost the majority of the previous month’s territorial gains. On July 2, the Romanians refused to recognize Hungarian borders and demanded the Red Army’s demobilization. The socialists believed that the situation was hopeless and put out peace feelers to the Allies. Kun and the communists remained determined to fight on. Universal military service was announced on July 20. The Comintern called for an international general strike on July 21 in solidarity with Soviet Hungary. Kun planned a last-ditch offensive to defeat the Romanians on the Tisza and repeat the same success as in May.

Due to betrayal inside the Red Army, the Allies and the Romanians knew about the planned offensive. After several days of bombardment from July 17-20, the Red Army crossed the Tisza and managed to retake Rakamaz. Yet this was only a fleeting moment of success. Hungarian efforts to outflank the Romanians failed and the Romanians managed to bring in reinforcements. On July 26, they launched a counter-offensive putting the Hungarians into retreat. The Romanians crossed the Tisza in a number of places and the Red Army was falling apart. On top of all of this the Comintern’s general strike failed. By this point, many socialists were prepared to negotiate with the Allies. The end of Soviet Hungary was only a matter of days.

Romanian cavalry entering Budapest in August 1919

On August 1, the RGC held its final session. Despite last minute appeals for final resistance by some communists, the decision was made to hand over power to a caretaker government of socialists. Once these administrative tasks were completed, Kun rose to deliver his farewell speech. In it, he absolved himself of blame and blamed the workers for betraying the revolution:

The proletariat of Hungary betrayed not their leaders but themselves. After a most careful weighing [of facts]… I have been forced to come to this cold sobering conclusion: the dictatorship of the proletariat has been defeated, economically, militarily and politically.

It need not have fallen had there been order here. Even if the transition to socialism had been economically and politically impossible…if there ha been a class-conscious proletariat vanguard [in Hungary], then the dictatorship of the proletariat would not have fallen in this way.

I would have preferred a different ending. I would have liked to see the proletariat fighting on the barricades…declaring it would rather die than abandon its rule. Then I thought: are we to man the barricades ourselves without the masses? Although we would have willingly sacrificed ourselves…would it have served the interests of the international world revolution…to make another Finland in Hungary?

In my opinion, any political change in this country can be only temporary and transitory in character. No one will be able to govern here. The proletariat which was dissatisfied with our government, who, despite every kind of agitation, kept shouting “down with the dictatorship of the proletariat” in their own factories, will be even more dissatisfied with any future government…

Now I see that our experiment to educate the proletarian masses of this country into class-conscious revolutionaries has been in vain. This proletariat needs the most inhumane and cruel dictatorship of the bourgeoisie in order to become revolutionary.

During the forthcoming transition period, we shall step aside. If possible, we shall endeavor to maintain class unity; if not, we shall fight with other means, so that in the future, with renewed strength, more experience, under more realistic and objective conditions, and with a more mature proletariat, we shall engage in a new battle for the dictatorship of the proletariat, and launch a new phase of the international proletarian revolution.151

Shortly after, Kun, his family, and close friends left Hungary by train for the border. They were fortunate Austria had granted them diplomatic immunity. Lukács and a small number of communists stayed behind in order to organize an underground communist party. Even before the Romanians reached Budapest on August 3, the counterrevolution had already begun. Nationalized firms were returned to their former owners, the Red Army was disbanded and the old laws were restored. Any trace of the Soviet Republic was to be erased.

Tibor Szamuely, Béla Kun, Jenő Ländler. Monument in Budapest

Aftermath

In reflecting upon the bourgeois denunciation of Red Terror, Peruvian communist José Carlos Mariátegui noted their cynical hypocrisy:

And, the good bourgeois, so concerned about the red terror, the Russian terror, are not concerned at all by the white terror, by Horthy’s dictatorship in Hungary; nevertheless, there is nothing more bloody, more tragic, than this somber and medieval period of Hungarian life. None of the crimes imputed to the Russian revolution can compare to the crimes committed by the bourgeois reaction in Hungary.152

For the next quarter-century, the Hungarian bourgeoisie under Admiral Horthy took its revenge upon the working class. The rule of capital was restored, unions outlawed and support for leftist ideas was greeted with prison or the gallows. More than 100,000 Hungarians were forced into exile.153 Among the victims of the White Terror were fourteen former commissars of the Soviet Republic, including Korvin and László. Szamuely was captured and committed suicide. Many other communists were able to escape Hungary and organize abroad. Unfortunately, loyal communists who ended up in Moscow such as Kun and Pogány were killed during the Stalinist purges of the 1930s.

In 1944, the Red Army entered Budapest, ending Horthy’s rule and creating the Hungarian People’s Republic, led by one of Kun’s former comrades, Mátyás Rákosi. However, People’s Hungary was a bureaucratic police state imposed by Stalinism. The new Hungary bore little resemblance to the Soviet Republic of 1919, which, for all its faults, was a genuinely revolutionary regime. When revolution reappeared in Hungary in 1956, it was only appropriate that it was supported by one of the giants of Hungarian Communism, Georg Lukács. Since the restoration of capitalism in 1989, anything associated with communism, including the Soviet Republic, was reviled and condemned.

This is the bourgeoisie’s judgment, but it should not be that of the working class. Soviet Hungary’s efforts merit a place of honor in the annals of working-class history and have many lessons for us today. The Republic of Councils truly was a heroic creation that proved that the working class could take the first steps to create a new world free from exploitation and oppression. However, Soviet Hungary’s revolutionary enthusiasm was not enough to enable them to prevail. They made many mistakes that we should remember: by unifying with the reformist socialists, the communists tied their hands and were unable to exercise clear leadership. Instead of challenging the reformists, the communists gave the socialists unearned prestige to the ultimate detriment of the revolution. The desire for unity should not be at the cost of revolutionary principles or denying the need for firm communist leadership. Lastly, Soviet Hungary had a partisan base of support in the cities among the working class and the intelligentsia. However, the Council Republic’s narrow workerism not only ignored the demands of the peasantry, but ended up turning many of them against the revolution. As Hungary proved, if communists desire victory, then they must represent and lead, not just the workers, but all of the oppressed and exploited in the struggle against capitalism. In our time where leftist politics have been reduced to a crass opportunism and a “kinder” capitalism, it is important to remember and emulate those who dared to do so much more. Despite their mistakes and final defeat, Soviet Hungary’s courage and daring remain an example of the true meaning of revolutionary communism.

The African Blood Brotherhood and the Origins of Black Communism in the United States

Ian Szabo writes on the history of the African Blood Brotherhood as part of a broader tradition of black liberation that merged with International Communism after the Bolshevik Revolution.

Otto Huiswoud (left) and Claude McKay (right) at the Fourth Congress of the Third International in Moscow in 1923.

From 1928 to 1934 the slogan “Self-determination for the Black Belt” became the core of the Communist Party of the United States’ (CPUSA) approach to Black Liberation. A common understanding among the non-Stalinist left of this strategy is that it was cooked up by Stalin in the late 1920s in order to purchase a positive image for his bureaucratization of the Communist International (Comintern) as he ascended to power.1 Because of this narrative, among many others, we are left in the communist movement with a false dichotomy between national liberation and social revolution, despite the reality that self-determination has always been a necessary part of the revolutionary transformation of society. Surrendering it to Stalinism betrays a fundamental basis of revolutionary Marxism rightly referenced by Lenin: “[to] not be a secretary of a tred-union but a people’s tribune who can respond to each and every manifestation of abuse of power and oppression[.]”2

Nothing exposes this false dichotomy between socialism and self-determination better than the history of black struggle and its relation to the US Communist movement. To fully grasp this history we must look at how black radicals developed a tradition of struggle on their own and merged it with the practice of international communism in the wake of the Bolshevik Revolution. This requires looking at the history of the African Blood Brotherhood (ABB), the first Black Communist organization, as well as its founder Cyril Briggs. 

Cyril Briggs

Briggs hailed from the Caribbean island of Nevis where he had refused to abandon his heritage as a black man and integrate into society with his lighter-skinned complexion.3 Alongside many other native West Indians of the period, he immigrated to the United States, eventually Harlem, in 1905. Due to a stutter that prevented him from being able to speak fluidly with others, Briggs chose to focus on writing rather than organizing, becoming an intellectual and writing for the Amsterdam News in 1912. The particular event that sparked his transformation into a Marxist was in the period just before the October Revolution in 1917; Briggs was faced with the ugly reality that Woodrow Wilson’s call for all nations to have the right to self-determination was bankrupt, revealed by the execution of 13 black mutineer soldiers in Houston, Texas.4 Although the unveiling of Wilson’s Fourteen Points later on would cause Briggs to waver, his primary political orientation would be towards the Socialist Party; and despite the SP’s tendency towards a class-first politics that failed to fully comprehend the oppression of African Americans, Briggs would put forward the argument that for black people, “no race would be more greatly benefited by the triumph of Labor”.5 

Briggs’ disillusionment with liberal insincerity and movement towards socialist politics was accompanied by the development of what would become known as the Black Belt Thesis. During his last months at the Amsterdam News Briggs would write an essay entitled: “Security of Life’ for Poles and Serbs- Why Not for Colored Americans”, where he put forward the idea of a “colored autonomous state” somewhere in the upper northwest or far west. He chose these regions because he believed they had not been as settled as most regions in North America. Although there are differences in terms of the region this model aimed to use, this shows that the idea of an autonomous African American nation within the American continent was not simply a project cooked up by Stalin in the late 1920s. Rather than a foreign product, the Black Belt began as an attempt by an African American socialist searching to synthesize the aspirations of the African liberation struggle from which he came with the politics of revolutionary Marxism. 

Eventually, socialist politics and opposition to WW1 would put Briggs in conflict with editors of the Amsterdam News. At the same time Briggs was forging friendships with the likes of Otto Huiswood, Grace Campbell, Richard B. Moore, W.A. Domingo, Hubert Harrison, Claude Mckay, and other radicals in Harlem. It was from this milieu that the journal Crusader was born. The period following the October Revolution in the United States saw a great deal of confidence and energy in the American left, signified in part by the Crusader and the ABB. This energy combined the turmoil that broke out after WW1 with the re-alignment of the global socialist movement and the birth of the Comintern. Briggs would be the intellectual powerhouse of the Crusader, continuing his arguments for the benefits of uniting with the workers’ struggle, while also theoretically uniting the African diaspora’s desires for self-determination with the Comintern’s goal of a Socialist Co-operative Commonwealth.6 For Briggs, Black liberation did not necessarily require a communist vision, but it was the preferable grounds or stepping stone by which to achieve it. In order to understand why Briggs believed that the communist vision of national liberation was superior to Marcus Garvey and the UNIA, we have to take a look at the radical transformations that had occurred in the Comintern.

It cannot be understated how profoundly the formation of Third International widened the international character of the historical socialist movement, to which Briggs was responding. As Donald Parkinson has pointed out, “the Third International was an improvement of the Second. Marxists moved towards a truly internationalist universalism which saw the entire world as having agency in the revolutionary process and struggled politically against internal European chauvinism.”7 Taking direction from Nikolai Bukharin’s remarks on the subject, the resolutions put forward in the fourth congress of the Comintern cemented the point that the global communist movement had everything to gain through an alliance with oppressed people seeking national self-determination in the colonized world, as the task of the “[Comintern] on the national and colonial question must be based primarily on bringing together the proletariat and working classes of all nations and countries for the common revolutionary struggle.”8 This allowed Briggs and those around him to find a place they felt they did not have in the old socialist parties connected to the Second International, while also pulling them away from reactionary forms of nationalism that failed to properly deal with the nature of imperialism and colonialism.

At the same time that the Comintern was making strides towards a more forward-thinking international, Marcus Garvey was revealing his political commitments to reject socialism and even anti-racism. Already before the founding of the Crusader, W.A. Domingo had been fired from Garvey’s newspaper, Negro World, for espousing socialist politics. He would later become a collaborator with Briggs and co-found the Liberator with fellow ABB member, Richard B. Moore.9 According to Briggs in the foundational documents of the ABB, Garvey’s form of capitalist separatism would necessarily lead to the downfall of any attempt to gain self-determination, as inevitable capitalist crisis would wreck such attempts and sap morale from the liberation movement.10 A decade later, Briggs would more brutally relitigate this issue, pointing out that the Garvey movement failed to combat racism by ceding the American continent to white people, resulting in at least tacit collaboration with the Ku Klux Klan.11 In these criticisms, Briggs remained consistent with his argument that although socialism is not necessary for black for liberation, a socialist commonwealth on an international scale nevertheless provided the best chance for that task.

Although Theodore Draper characterized the ABB as being a typical iteration of the propagandist organizations of early century Harlem, it was equally familiar to the history of intellectualism in the worker’s movement, from Marx’s own Communist League to the circles the Bolsheviks emerged from.12 Of course, like any political organization it also had a program which formulated its basis on four points: “(1) the economic structure of the Struggle (not wholly economic, but nearly so); (2) that it is essential to know from whom our oppression comes… and to make common cause with all forces and movements working against our enemies; (3) that it is not necessary for Negroes to be able to endorse the program of these other movements before they can make common cause with them against the common enemy; (4) that the important thing about Soviet Russia… is… the outstanding fact that [it] is opposing the imperialist robbers who have partitioned our motherland and subjugated our kindred, and… [it] is feared by those imperialist nations.”13 The 1921 program fully articulated the class-based form of Black liberation Briggs sought to convey, utilizing the anti-imperialist commitments of the Comintern to build a bridge with the Bolshevik Party in Russia.

To fully grasp the historical importance of the ABB we must look not only to Briggs but to the entire membership. Drawn into the orbit of the ABB through her activism with the Committee on Urban Conditions among Negroes in Harlem, Grace Campbell was a social worker, court attendant, and prison officer convinced by the ABB’s call for socialism, black liberation, and decolonization.14 Alongside Hermina Dumont, Campbell was further radicalized by the international character of the communist movement. However, despite her involvement, the ABB was unfortunately an organization dominated by men, and so Campbell was relegated to secretarial tasks despite being on the “Supreme Council” of the ABB.15 Campbell dealt with the male chauvinism of the ABB through her involvement behind the scenes, as she held Supreme Council meetings and distributed the Crusader from her home.

Grace Campbell addresses a rally in Harlem

According to McDuffie, Grace Campbell took the role of a mother figure for the ABB and much of the early communist left in Harlem. Not only a hub for the movement itself, Campbell’s home was open to anyone in need of food and shelter. It is true that this was a deeply gendered role to be given and taken up by Campbell, but the flipside of this is that it was also a source of power for a woman in the ABB able to “consciously construct and strategically perform this matronly persona to exert influence with women and to challenge the sexist agendas of black male leaders and to exercise influence in male-dominated political spaces”.16 Although much of this essay deals with the political orientation of the ABB, what is present in its history, as in most early socialist history, is a profoundly male-dominated dynamic which may be highly capable of dealing with the questions of decolonization and imperialism but fails to factor in, let alone fully integrate, the struggle of women workers. 

A number of Grace Campbell’s comrades in her time as a socialist organizer would join her in Briggs’ ABB, but few would grow as close to Briggs himself as Richard B. Moore. A fellow radical from the Caribbean that found himself in Harlem, Moore came into Briggs’ orbit through his journalistic work and eventual founding of the Emancipator alongside W.A. Domingo.17 One point made by Moore himself about the ABB is worth keeping in mind: that although most of the history of the organization generally paints it as either a response to Marcus Garvey’s UNIA or a recruitment operation for the communist movement, this ignores the actual dynamics that produced the ABB. The reality is much more complicated, as many of the figures that made up the ABB had worked together prior to the organization’s formal founding. This means that the ABB was not necessarily a response to another organization but something which emerged from the intellectual and practical work black socialists had been committed to for years beforehand. Although many of these members certainly saw an ally in Leninism and the Comintern, their project had already developed its own political lines which the communist movement spoke to.

The campaign against Garveyism is a particular subject in which one can clearly see what Moore was getting at when he made this claim, as he did not fall in line with it. The aforementioned campaign was certainly in the right with regards to principled communist politics, but Moore refused to take part, preferring not to “[join] with the oppressors of your own people” and “betrayal of the right to speech.”18 As these debates were in the pre-Stalinized communist movement, the assumption that there needed to be a principled black united front with a right to criticism and free speech was prefigured within the movement and Moore’s conception of black socialist politics. If the ABB were simply made to respond to the UNIA or recruit black people to the communist movement, Moore would not have had any incentive to refuse to engage in this campaign, as it would have been perfectly consistent with the raison d’être of the organization. Instead, Moore’s response at the time was perfectly consistent with an organization that had always had its own agenda and vision of liberation.

Leaflet promoting the African Blood Brotherhood

In 1919-20, the ABB’s vision of liberation was encapsulated by a moment in Bogalusa, Louisiana, discussed by Moore in an article named after the city. The United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners (UBCJ), International Union of Timber Workers (IUTW), and American Federation of Labor (AFL) had been organizing across racial lines in the city but were eventually attacked by an organization that synthesized both the redemption narrative and ethos of the Ku Klux Klan and the nationalism of the first red scare: the Self-Preservation and Loyalty League.19 Their target was the head of the union of African American sawmill workers and loggers, Sol Dacus, who would be saved by his shotgun-carrying white comrades, Stanley O’Rourke and J.P. Bouchillon. Gunfights broke out because of this, resulting in the deaths of O’Rourke and Bouchillon, alongside the president of the Central Trades and Labor Council Lem Williams and carpenter Thomas Gaines. Moore’s and Brigg’s own articles would have been known to the multi-racial workers of Bogalusa too, as they were avid readers of the Messenger and Crusader. After the killings, Moore’s article in the Messenger praised these men for having put lives on the line for their fellow black workers in his article “Bogalusa”:

Williams, Gaines, and Bouchillon have given their lives. O’Rourke imperilled his life, in the cause of true freedom. Not for white labor, not for black labor (though they died defending a [black worker]), nor yet for any race or nation, did they make the supreme sacrifice, but for Labor, that great university of fraternity of striving, suffering human-kind which though despoiled, despised, and rejected, alone holds promise for the emancipation of the race.20

This further demonstrates Moore’s argument that the ABB was a novel organization that neither responded to nor was subservient to another organization. Just as the theory of an autonomous African American nation was not cooked up by Stalin but a theory developed by Briggs, so too was the program of the ABB an expression of totally independent thinking of its members.

To further develop a rich image of the ABB we must look not only to understand its political dimensions, but also its cultural contributions. To do so we must look at another one of its members, the great poet Claude McKay. In the pages of the Liberator, Max Eastman’s newspaper, McKay would publish his seminal poem “If We Must Die” only two months after the founding of the African Blood Brotherhood, a poem which presented an explicitly revolutionary perspective which contained “no impotent whining… no prayers to the white man’s god, no mournful Jeremiad.”21 

If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursèd lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!22

McKay did not become a formal member of the ABB until 1922 but was a friend to Briggs who introduced him to many of the people who would become the core group of the ABB, including the man whom McKay would travel with to the USSR, Otto Huiswood.23

Huiswood was, much like Grace Campbell, one of the chief organizers of the ABB, and he was recognized during his trip as an ABB representative to the USSR. Although it is difficult to track down much information about his prowess as an organizer, Huiswood left a profound impression on the other attendees of the fourth congress of the Comintern. If anything, Lenin himself would likely have wanted even more members of the ABB and other African American communists to attend, as he was disappointed that their own perspectives had been ignored in the American communist movement as a whole.24 It is tempting to go through an entire history of McKay and Huiswood’s visit, but suffice to say we all benefited from it thanks to this fantastic picture of McKay convening with Grigori Zinoviev and Nikolai Bukharin:

      

Shortly after its program was fleshed out and articulated, the ABB was integrated into the Communist Party. Earlier in May 1920, a convention was called among the various emergent communist parties that had not yet merged, the United Communist Party (UCP), Communist Party of America (CPA), and Communist Labor Party (CLP). The UCP had displayed a particular sensitivity to the question of Black liberation but the ABB remained officially distant due to the other parties’ lack of similar commitments. However, by 1921, Briggs would appear as a delegate for the ABB at the founding conference for the Workers Party of America (WPA) in 1921, later to become the Communist Party of the United States of America.25 Otto Huiswood became the head of the WPA’s “Negro Commission”, which was a good start for dealing with racial antagonism in the emerging party despite the persistent presence of neglect, and patronizing attitudes towards black members of the party.26 

During this same period, the ABB experienced a bump in membership that forced it to choose between languishing in sectarian obscurity or fully integrating into the CP. A number of the leaders from Marcus Garvey’s UNIA had come on side to the ABB due to the former organization’s sketchy business practices, but these members were not particularly enthused with the idea of affiliating to the emerging Third International.27 To make things more difficult, the result of this growth convinced the ABB leadership to attempt a fundraiser for the creation of a new newspaper to named the Liberator, which not only failed to emerge but exhausted the continuation of the Crusader. With Briggs’ journal out of commission, he began working at the national office of the Friends of Soviet Russia in 1922, becoming an organizer at the Yorkville branch of the WPA, and managing to reclaim the name of his former journal in the form of the twice weekly Crusader News Service with the assistance of Grace Campbell.28 Although the UNIA continued to hemorrhage membership due to nonsense like bartering with the KKK, Briggs found himself unable to convince its membership to join the struggle for communism, and the ABB began to decline despite attempts to keep it afloat through sponsoring cooperative stores. By 1924, the ABB would become fully integrated within the WPA. 

Ultimately, the ABB itself only existed for a short five years, but it left a huge impression on the American communist movement and its core membership would re-emerge in the nascent communist movement as the American Negro Labor Congress. Those who had built the ABB went on to become active organizers long after its demise, empowering African American workers throughout the southern United States. Their legacy is the idea that communism was, and still is, a vehicle towards self-determination and emancipation of all of the world’s oppressed. Solidarity of the entire international working class was at the core of their day to day political organizing, knowing that they could never be free so long as workers elsewhere were not. 

      

Revolutionary Reels: Soviet Propaganda Film and the Russian Revolution

Shalon Van Tine provides an overview of Soviet Film and its development in relation to the politics of the USSR and Bolshevik Revolution. 

The Rise of Soviet Film

In 1896, the Lumière brothers visited Saint Petersburg to present their collection of moving pictures to a small Russian audience, marking the first viewing of film in Russia.1 The first film to be made in Russia was during the same year: a filming of the coronation of what would be Russia’s last monarch, Tsar Nicholas II.2 It would take nearly a decade for Russia to have its own film studio, and the advent of World War I slowed the influx of foreign cinema, leaving Russia to launch its own film industry instead of relying predominantly on foreign film distributors.3 Once established, Russia’s film industry grew, and, by 1914, about half of Russia’s urban population regularly attended the movies.4 

However, the Bolsheviks would revolutionize Russian cinema as leaders recognized the potential of film propaganda as a way to influence the political and social attitudes of the people.5 Vladimir Lenin clearly understood the power of film, as he stated, “Of all the arts, for us, cinema is most important.”6 The Bolsheviks nationalized the film industry in 1919, giving the People’s Commissariat for Education control over film production, with a mandate to use cinema to promote the Communist cause at home and abroad.

Before delving into Soviet film in particular it is crucial to first understand why film stood out as a key propaganda tool in the early twentieth century. Film was a new medium. While propagandistic images had been used in various ways throughout history, moving images offered something fresh. One of the most well-known tales in film history about the impact of film on early viewers is that, upon watching Lumière’s Arrival of the Train, audiences shrieked in horror at the train coming directly towards them from the background of the image.7 Even though this story may have been embellished, early audiences were intrigued by film’s ability to animate real-life imagery. Thus, film offered unprecedented realism beyond the traditional effect of pamphlets, posters, and even photography. Furthermore, since a majority of Russia’s population were illiterate peasants, film could reach a widespread audience who would not have responded as well to written propaganda.8

The Bolsheviks focused their film industry on promoting specific communist themes among the Russian people and around the world. Different times meant different goals. During the years from the 1917 Revolution to the death of Joseph Stalin in 1953, Soviet propaganda adjusted to reflect the needs of the party in three periods: the Revolution, the Civil War, and New Economic Policy (NEP) (1917–1927); Stalinization, modernization, and the Great Purges (1927–1938); and the prewar, World War II, and postwar years (1938–1953). Over the course of these periods, Soviet film focused successively on the following key objectives: enshrining the ideals of the Revolution; solidifying the Bolsheviks’ version of history and justifying Bolshevik leadership; promoting international revolution and calling on workers everywhere to unite against their oppressors; demonstrating the power of the people working together; elucidating the concept of the “New Soviet Person” and of the cultural revolution; showing the ongoing struggle against class enemies; promoting the controversial policy and methods of collectivization; demonstrating how industrialization would improve the lives of ordinary people while bringing society closer to the communist ideal; and celebrating Stalin as the strong leader of the Russian people and justifying questionable means to protect the people from enemies foreign and domestic. In short, Soviet film propaganda evolved in both content and style to reflect the changing political goals of the party during these periods. 

Soviet Film Propaganda during the Revolution, the Civil War, and NEP

The tumultuous period from 1917 to 1927 began with a Tsar who ruled over the Russian Empire and ended with a Communist Party leader who exercised unrivaled control over the new Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR). During this time, the Bolsheviks grew from being one of many political parties agitating for revolution into the only party—the Communist Party—which would wield power until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.9 These years would shape Soviet leadership and would see the development of a new, impactful style of propaganda film: Soviet montage.10 The radical filmmakers of these years would advance an innovative film style to capture the spirit of a revolutionary age.

The February Revolution of 1917 saw the collapse of the Tsarist government, which was replaced by the Provisional Government, in which power was shared between various political factions, chiefly through the bourgeois-dominated legislature, the Duma, and the councils of workers and soldiers, the Soviets.11 Alexander Kerensky, one of the leaders in the Duma who supported the February Revolution, rose to prominence in the Provisional Government and, after the July Days, became the effective head of state. The Provisional Government sought to balance the interests of competing factions of Russian society until elections for a constituent assembly could be held. In the meantime, it continued to honor Russia’s war commitment to the Allied Powers, seen by many workers and soldiers as a betrayal of the February Revolution, which had been precipitated largely by the fury of the hungry women of Petrograd who had had enough of the horror of World War I. 12 The Bolsheviks, who early in 1917 were just one of a variety of socialist workers’ parties, adopted the slogan “peace, land, and bread,” and by autumn 1917, they gained the majority in the Petrograd Soviet. The Bolsheviks argued for an end to dual power, embodied in the slogan “all power to the Soviets,” and they organized Petrograd workers to seize power from the Provisional Government in the October Revolution of 1917.13 The Bolsheviks declared the Soviets to be the sole organ of power, and thus began the Soviet Union, marking the first time in history that workers seized and held power for themselves. This momentous event would be celebrated in many Soviet films—first from the Bolshevik point of view, later with a Stalinist interpretation.

The Bolsheviks ended Russian involvement in World War I with a treaty in March 1918, but the fight to consolidate Soviet power had just begun. The Civil War broke out between the White Army of anti-communists and the Red Army of the Bolsheviks and their allies, such as the Mensheviks and the Socialist Revolutionaries, whose members would later be either absorbed or purged.14 In 1923, after years of fighting, social and economic upheaval, famine, brutal tactics to crush counterrevolution, conscription, nationalization of industries, crop seizures, and millions dead, the Bolsheviks achieved a ruinous, costly victory, and the future of Soviet communism and of all that they had fought for was far from certain. Lenin instituted the New Economic Policy (NEP), a “strategic retreat” from many of the communist policies of the Civil War and a partial, temporary reinstitution of a market economy.15 NEP probably saved the Soviet Union from economic disaster and allowed the Bolsheviks—renamed the Communist Party in 1918—to solidify their control.

During the 1920s, the Communist Party launched a great propaganda campaign to win the hearts and minds of the Russian people—and to stir workers throughout the world to revolution.16 Lenin, the preeminent leader of the Bolsheviks, died in 1924, and party leaders contended to fill the power vacuum. Stalin consolidated power within the party bureaucracy, and, by 1927, emerged as the head of the party. Stalin’s rivals, chief among them Leon Trotsky, were purged from the party, and their roles in history were often diminished or distorted in Stalinist propaganda.17 But in the years before Stalin crushed all opposition and stifled both political and creative freedom, groundbreaking master filmmakers, such as Sergei Eisenstein, Dziga Vertov, and Vsevolod Pudovkin, invented an exciting Soviet cinema unlike anything produced in the world thus far. In the first Soviet decade, these innovators brought to the silver screen—and, thereby, to the world—the spirit of the Revolution and a vision of its fruits.

Sergei Eisenstein changed the way filmmakers edited film, and, in doing so, increased the excitement and effectiveness of propaganda film. Eisenstein was influenced by some of his Soviet contemporaries who were experimenting with film montage, which he referred to as the “dialectical process that creates a third meaning out of the original two meanings of the adjacent shots.”18 While there was some disagreement among Soviet filmmakers as to the most effective way to use montage, Eisenstein developed his own theories that proved to have an authoritative impact on propaganda films. His expert use of montage in Strike (1925) and Battleship Potemkin (1925) illustrated the powerful role that film could play in communicating the theory and ideals of the Revolution.

In Battleship Potemkin, Eisenstein created a dramatized version of the mutiny that occurred on the Russian battleship Potemkin during the 1905 revolution, engaging the viewer’s sympathies with exaggerated characters (one might call them “Marxist archetypes”).19 The film starts by setting the stage for revolt. In the “Men and Maggots” scene, Eisenstein introduces his viewers to his rapid style of cutting from image to image. The film shifts between shots of the distressed sailors and the spoiled meat to the maggots and the conniving expressions of the evil leaders.20 With this tactic, Eisenstein accomplishes two important things: he wins the viewer’s loyalty to the sailors and he establishes the Tsarist leaders as a force that must be eliminated. Eisenstein displays his montage techniques again during the “Drama on the Quarter Deck” scene when he cuts quickly from the commander’s orders to kill the sailors, to the faces of the distraught sailors, and then to the action shots of the chaos.21 With this style of fast-paced editing between images, Eisenstein establishes a sense of expressive panic and disorder to communicate his themes on both an intellectual and a gut level. Louis Giannetti notes on Eisenstein’s editing that “Eisenstein believed that the essence of existence is constant change. He believed that nature’s eternal fluctuation is dialectical—the result of the conflict and synthesis of opposites.”22 

The most effective and famous scene in Battleship Potemkin is the “Odessa Steps” sequence, in which soldiers march down the steps in an inhuman, almost robotic display of oppression, slaughtering droves of innocent people and culminating in a bloody massacre.23 One of the most powerful series of images is the distinction between the machine-like, faceless Cossacks pitted against the helpless Russian people, such as the mother holding the child walking up the steps towards the soldiers in a desperate, doomed plea for mercy. Eisenstein mastered the editing and the sound precisely so that the viewer felt a sense of panic and fear while being fed such formidable imagery.24 Battleship Potemkin became the film to capture the spirit of the Revolution—not just in Russia in 1905 or in 1917, but the universal Revolution of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie, international and timeless. To Russians it was a call to embrace the vision of communism; to workers around the world it was a call to follow the example of their brothers and sisters in Russia.

After the Bolsheviks’ costly victory in the devastating Civil War, they had to deal with the reality that the country faced severe social and economic problems.25 Russian society was fragmented, and the Bolsheviks needed to demonstrate the power of the people working together rather than through individual action. The portrayal of collective action—a cornerstone of communist ideology—is evident in many of the propaganda films of the 1920s. Eisenstein’s Strike begins with a quotation from Lenin: “The strength of the working class is organization. Without organization of the masses, the proletarian is nothing. Organized it is everything. Being organized means unity of action, unity of practical activity.”26 The film shows a workers’ strike in pre-Revolutionary Russia and the violent suppression of the strike by the capitalists, famously illustrated through Eisenstein’s montage of murdered workers and slaughtered cows.27 Throughout the film, the workers are shown working together in groups, not as individuals—so much so that individuals are hard to tell apart and receive almost no unique characterization. Strike served a couple purposes at the time. First, it called on workers worldwide to unite to throw off the yokes of their oppressors. Even though the Russian Revolution had already happened, the Soviet Union still had to promote unity among the proletariat. Second, it promoted a “continuing revolution,” that is, the expansion of an international proletarian brotherhood, rather than the “socialism in one country” of later years.28

The Bolsheviks needed to address another concern: justifying their continued leadership. The death of Lenin caused the Bolsheviks to worry about the exhaustion of the revolution, so they felt the need to continue to take advantage of the power of propaganda to keep those fires burning.29 These fears were tackled in both Vsevolod Pudovkin’s The End of St. Petersburg (1927) and Eisenstein and Grigori Aleksandrov’s October: Ten Days the Shook the World (1928). Both films were released near the ten-year anniversary of the Revolution, hence their propagandistic portrayal of the historical events and the Communist Party’s declaration that the films were intended to honor “the Bolshevik completion of the Russian Revolution.”30 In The End of St. Petersburg, audiences were reminded of the suffering of the Russian people before the October Revolution and the need for the Bolsheviks’ bold leadership.31 In October, Eisenstein and Aleksandrov place the Bolsheviks in the highest regard, showing them as righteous revolutionaries with the people’s mandate to overthrow the Provisional Government.32 Several scenes in October, particularly scenes involving crowds, are so realistic that they appear almost like documentary footage, blurring the line between history and propaganda.33 

In addition to casting the Bolsheviks as the heroic leaders of the proletariat, October is also a noteworthy example of rewriting history to portray Lenin, Stalin, and Stalin’s allies in a positive light while portraying Stalin’s enemies in a negative light. When filming began in early 1927, Trotsky was still a leader of the Communist Party, though he was already at odds with Stalin. By December 1927, at the Fifteenth Party Congress, Trotsky and his faction had been purged from the party.34 Stalin then stepped up his campaign to discredit Trotsky—not only by branding him a traitor in the present but also by falsely diminishing Trotsky’s important role in the October Revolution and in the Civil War. When it was not possible to eliminate Trotsky’s role entirely, he was instead made to look foolish, inept, or even traitorous in the retelling of historical events. At Stalin’s insistence, October had to be recut to remove most of Trotsky’s role in the portrayal of the October Revolution.35 Only one scene with Trotsky remains: at a meeting of the Bolsheviks, Trotsky is shown opposing Lenin’s brave plans to seize power in the name of the proletariat. Additionally, October emphasizes the role of individual leaders far more than the earlier Strike and Battleship Potemkin, marking the beginning of the shift from celebrating collective action to celebrating the great leader. Lenin becomes memorialized as almost godlike, and Stalin is cast as his chosen successor.

October displays yet again Eisenstein’s successful use of montage and powerful symbolism. An early sequence depicts the people tearing down a statue of the Tsar—his head topples, then the orb and scepter, then the arms, and then the whole statue falls. Later, when Kerensky’s imperial ambitions threaten the revolution, Eisenstein cuts to the statue sequence in reverse—the Tsar, piece by piece, flies back onto his pedestal.36 These images are quickly intercut with intertitles expressing the imminent need to save the Revolution from traitorous reactionaries.

Kerensky’s place in history is certainly open to debate. One could argue that Kerensky was an honest caretaker in a tight spot doing his best to balance the interests of many different groups in Russian society during a time of tremendous uncertainty. The Provisional Government was only supposed to be a temporary custodian until elections could be held for the constituent assembly in November 1917.37 Those elections were held, and while the Bolsheviks won 25 percent of the popular vote, they placed second to the Socialist Revolutionaries who got 40 percent of the vote.38 To the Bolsheviks in 1917, as well as to Stalin in 1927, Kerensky’s role was necessarily fixed as a villain—a traitor to the February Revolution who sided with the Western imperialist powers against the suffering people of Russia—and the only legitimate election was through the workers’ and soldiers’ Soviets, which had, in October 1917, chosen the Bolsheviks to lead the workers’ seizure of state power. 

Clearly, from the point of view of the party in 1927, these events required some finessing. The Bolsheviks could contend with some justification to be the representative of the urban proletariat by October 1917, and they chiefly relied on this constituency for their claim to power.39 Still, the Bolsheviks would look much better cast as heroic saviors of the people’s Revolution from the betrayal of a new Tsar (or a new Napoleon) than as one political party among many who seized an opportunity. To that end, the story of the Great October Socialist Revolution had to be told as the triumph of the people—led by the Bolsheviks—over the monarchical aspirations of a traitor—Kerensky. 

October demonstrated the Bolshevik fear that their Revolution would lead to a new Napoleon. In the film, the audience is shown flashes of Napoleon’s statue with cuts to Kerensky contemplating over a chessboard. Later, a similar scene cuts between images of Napoleon to Kerensky standing in a Napoleonic pose.40 The Bolsheviks had long been concerned that, after a successful revolution, a Napoleon-like leader might arise:

They had learned the lessons of history and had no intention of letting the Russian Revolution degenerate as the French Revolution had done when Napoleon Bonaparte declared himself Emperor. Bonapartism—the transformation of a revolutionary war leader into a dictator—was a danger that was often discussed in the Bolshevik Party… It was assumed that any potential Bonaparte would be a charismatic figure, capable of stirring oratory and grandiose visions and probably wearing a military uniform.41

The message of this sequence in October is clear and compelling: Kerensky was a would-be Bonaparte, and allowing him to remain in power would have been to surrender the promise of the February Revolution. Concurrent propaganda painted Trotsky in a similar light. Ironically, it was not Kerensky, Trotsky, or any other leader who became the dreaded Napoleon, but Stalin himself (an identity cemented in George Orwell’s Animal Farm)—which made it all the more essential to paint Kerensky in that role.42 

Soviet Film Propaganda during Stalin’s Revolution and the Great Purges

The years from 1927 to 1938 saw Stalin wield near-absolute power over the Soviet Union. To maintain control and crush dissent—real or imagined—millions of citizens were executed or sent to the Gulag where many died, and any group within the Communist Party which looked like it might form a faction was purged.43 Fear of attack from the West spread, and hoped-for revolutions in Germany and other Western nations failed. Stalin, therefore, shifted rhetoric and policy from the traditional Marxist aim of international proletarian revolution to “socialism in one country,” which bore a striking resemblance to nationalism, a very un-Marxist concept.44 In effect, this meant less talk about workers throughout the world and more talk of the Russian people—and of their heroic leader. The cult of personality around Stalin grew, and propagandists analogized to great leaders from Russia’s past, like Alexander Nevsky and Ivan the Terrible. If Stalin’s measures were iron-fisted, it was because Mother Russia was threatened by invasion, by spies, and by other class enemies.

The Soviet Union recognized that it was isolated, and that, if the communist ideal was to be achieved, the Russian people would have to do it themselves. The wave of European proletarian revolutions they had hoped for had not occurred. Modernization was a precondition for communism and necessary for defense against invasion, and, in 1928, Stalin’s First Five-Year Plan made modernization the Soviet Union’s top priority.45 There were three key components to this drive: collectivization, industrialization, and the cultural revolution.46 Collectivization meant modernization of agriculture. Peasant farmers were forced to reorganize their farms into kolkhoz (collective farms).47 Industrialization meant building many new factories, increasing output, and bringing backward agricultural practices into the machine age.48 The USSR wanted to beat the capitalist West at what the West did best, and the USSR knew this would require a herculean effort. Finally, if the Soviet people were to transform their nation and its production, they would also need to transform themselves. Illiterate workers and superstitious peasants would need to improve themselves: they must strive to achieve the ideal of the “New Soviet Person.”49 Propaganda was essential to show that these three aspects of modernization would improve life immediately (many films from this era include scenes simply showing machines at work, with a celebratory atmosphere) and would help to usher in the new age of communism.

Before Stalin took full control of the party, many Soviet propaganda films dealt with the themes of continuing the ideals of the Revolution, unifying the people, and preserving Bolshevik leadership. Films such as Vsevolod Pudovkin’s Mother (1926), Dziga Vertov’s Forward, Soviet (1926), Esfir Shub’s The Fall of the Romanov Dynasty (1927), and Alexander Dovzhenko’s Zvenigora (1928) all reminded the audience that the revolution was necessary and justified in order to continue towards the goal of communism.50 Some of these themes would continue into the Stalin years, but the focus shifted towards ideas about the “New Soviet Person,” the cultural revolution, and the continued fight against class enemies.51

This persistent battle against class enemies was evidenced in the propaganda films that emerged in the early years of Stalin’s leadership, most notably in Pudovkin’s Storm Over Asia (1928), which takes place in Mongolia circa 1918–20, and involves a struggle between indigenous Mongols—the oppressed people with whom the audience is meant to identify—and two class enemies: British imperialists and capitalists, and Buddhist priests and other Mongol elites. These class enemies work together to exploit the honest and noble people of the eastern steppe.52 In Storm Over Asia, Pudovkin promotes several themes of Soviet propaganda: the continuing, international spirit of the Revolution; the ongoing struggle against various class enemies, at home and abroad; and the need for modernization to lift the people out of the darkness of superstition and religion.

Two scenes mocking religion and priests are worth noting. Early in the film, a Buddhist priest says prayers over a sick man in a humble hut. The priest employs various superstitious trinkets and noisemakers to heal the sick man—not medicine, just idle noise. In thanks for this dubious service, a family member offers the priest a fur as a “gift for the temple.” When the priest decides that the gift is not valuable enough, he seizes a second fur. The son of the family (the main character in the film) tackles the priest, who ends up running away like a thief caught in the act and lucky to get away with his own hide.

Later in the film, there is a compelling sequence cutting between two scenes: preparations for a Buddhist festival and a British commandant and his wife dressing up to meet the Grand Lama at that festival. The festival shows priests dressing up in colorful, shiny, and “primitive” outfits; meanwhile, the proud British commandant dresses in his fancy and medal-clad uniform, his wife in a gown and jewels. Both sets of costumes require the assistance of servants. Intertitles are unnecessary: the message is clear that both the religious elites and the Western capitalists are class enemies, oppressors of the unpretentious, working people. As the British join the festival and make a grand entrance into the temple, Western pomp meets Eastern pomp, both meant to disgust the viewer. There is a moment of surprise when the Grand Lama—hailed as wise and revered by the priests—is revealed to be a baby sitting on a throne. A priest explains that, “Though the Great One does not speak, still he sees all, hears all, knows all.”53 The British commandant hesitates for a moment, and then bows solemnly. Again, the message is clear: the Western capitalists will play along with superstitious nonsense if their collaborators require it.

One of the most effective uses of montage in Storm Over Asia occurs in a key scene in which a British fur trader cheats the main character, a poor Mongol. A brawl ensues, and it ends with the Mongol pulling out a knife and cutting the dishonest trader’s hand. The Mongol runs off. The British fur trader holds up his bloody hand, which is followed by an intertitle reading, “Avenge the white man’s blood!”54 Pudovkin rapidly cuts between close-ups of the bloody hand, images of capitalists shouting for vengeance, and troops marching in. As the Mongols flee, Pudovkin shows a row of riflemen, weapons aimed, advancing on the people who flee before them. In the end, the British commandant announces, “If within twenty-four hours the criminal is not surrendered the entire population will be fined and punished by example.”55 The sequence ends on another shot of the soldiers aiming their rifles, preparing to fire. Taken literally, the sequence presents a choppy narrative, but it is meant as a visual argument demonstrating the arrogance and racism of the Western capitalists who “buy cheap and sell dear” and the ruthlessness of “those who guard the interests of capitalism.”56  

The fruits of modernization, and especially of collectivization, is the main theme of Eisenstein and Aleksandrov’s The General Line (1929). The film also tackles the need for the New Soviet Person to cast off the superstitions and backwardness of the old days. In The General Line, poor peasants with small farms are shown struggling due to drought. The peasants follow gaudy Orthodox priests, idols in hand, in a procession up to a hilltop. There the priests pray to heaven, asking for rain, while the peasants grovel in the dirt.57 Eisenstein cuts between the people groveling and sheep—thirsty sheep, panting mindlessly. The people catch a brief glimpse of hope when they see a cloud, but, alas, there is no rain, because the priests are frauds (and, of course, they are also exploitative class enemies).58 In the next scene, the peasant farmers have formed a dairy collective, and a new, shiny machine has arrived which efficiently churns milk into butter. The people are skeptical: they have been fooled before. They watch the machine work. An intertitle asks, “deception or progress?”59 As the machine churns, the people see that it works, and they rejoice in their newfound prosperity. Much of the rest of the film celebrates the workings of a collective farm with similarly happy results. Production of The General Line began before Trotsky was purged from the party, and so the film was reedited to eliminate any references to him. It was released under the appropriate title The Old and the New.60

The reality of collectivization fell far short of what was promised to the peasants, and it was a disastrous failure, largely responsible for famine and the deaths of millions.61 These embarrassing failures of the Communist Party’s policy made its defense in propaganda that much more important. Dovzhenko’s Earth (1930) celebrates life, death, the harvest, the power of the people working collectively, and the coming of the new world promised by the Revolution, all with striking visual poetry. It shows the clash of old and new—oxen versus tractor, class structure versus communism, religion versus atheism, and the individual versus the collective.62 The past is frequently contrasted with the imagined future, a future in which the proletariat’s work, joined with the power of the machine, would bring prosperity. Unlike the harsh reality of collectivization in the present, this beautiful film was intended to reassure the people of the new future that collectivization would (supposedly) soon bring them.

The key to the cultural revolution was the development of the New Soviet Person—a person who had shaken off the shackles of the old world (such as religion, superstition, and traditional bourgeois social values) and who embraced the new, modernized Soviet world. As Sheila Fitzpatrick explains:

The kind of renunciation that most interested Soviet authorities was when priests renounced the cloth. Such renunciation, if done publicly, provided dramatic support for the Soviet position that religion was a fraud that had been discredited by modern science. Signed announcements that a priest was renouncing the cloth “in response to socialist construction” appeared from time to time as letters to the editor of the local press during the Cultural Revolution.63

Whether such renunciations were real or coerced by Stalin’s operatives, they were useful in promoting the break with old values. These anti-religious themes are on display in films like Storm Over Asia, The General Line, Earth, and also in Eisenstein’s Bezhin Meadow (1937). In the film, a farmer, angry at the government, attempts to destroy the crops, and his son tries to stop him to protect the Soviet state.64 The father, an enemy of the state, is often shown alongside religious icons. Eisenstein provides a contrast between religion and modernization, between the old world and the new. The son is a prime example of the New Soviet Person: someone born into a new generation and free from the baggage of the old regime. These themes are also explored in Dziga Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera (1929), which has no narrative plot, but instead employs modernist themes of speed and movement, and documents the Soviet world of the new generation—a place where the confinements of the old world had withered away and industrialization had created a new, promising life.65

Soviet Film Propaganda in the Prewar, World War II, and Postwar Years

The period from 1938 to 1953 was, of course, defined by World War II—or, as it is known in Russia, the Great Patriotic War. The Nazi invasion devastated the USSR, which suffered more casualties than any other European country.66 Relations between the Soviet Union and the West improved temporarily as they joined against their common enemies, the Axis Powers. Film propaganda from these years focused on the war—as it did in other countries as well—and on Stalin himself, the great leader. Soviet films from the 1940s bear little resemblance to the brilliant montage of the 1920s. Different messages called for different film methods: instead of quick cuts, swift movement, and groups in action, these later films have longer takes showing brave individuals holding the line. The evolution of the work of the preeminent Soviet filmmaker, Sergei Eisenstein, demonstrates this shift: Strike and Battleship Potemkin (both 1925) focus on groups—the proletariat collectively is the protagonist—while Alexander Nevsky (1938) and Ivan the Terrible, Part I (1944) focus on individuals—one strong ruler is the protagonist.67 With these films, international socialism has been replaced by nationalism and totalitarianism. Gone is the battle cry “workers of the world, unite”; it is replaced with a call to follow the great leader Stalin and to defend Mother Russia against Western invaders. German soldiers are no longer class brothers—they are Teutonic Knights, come to pillage Russia.

Was the Revolution now complete, as Stalin claimed, or had it been betrayed, as Trotsky, Orwell, and others believed? If a filmmaker wanted his work to be seen, he had better take Stalin’s side, and make sure that any hint of criticism was very cleverly veiled. For example, whether or not Eisenstein intended Ivan the Terrible, Part II (1946) as a criticism, it was perceived as such, and it was not released until 1958. Not until the thaw following the death of Stalin in 1953 and Khrushchev’s policy of destalinization would filmmakers, as well as musicians, writers, and other artists, find a little more freedom of expression.

Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky (1938), a great historical epic, depicts the thirteenth-century battle on the frozen lake, in which Alexander Nevsky led the Russians against the invading Teutonic Knights.68 Released in 1938, as Hitler was swallowing up Austria and the Sudetenland, it is no mistake that Eisenstein’s subject was a great Russian victory over German invaders. The film even ends with an explicit declaration that any who would attack Russia will be defeated, the warning painted across a vast throng of Russian soldiers. One of the Germans in the film even wears a design that highly suggests the swastika. The film was very successful in the Soviet Union, but Stalin pulled it from circulation in 1939 when he signed his pact with Hitler. Two years later, when Hitler invaded Russia, Alexander Nevsky went back into widespread circulation.

Alexander Nevsky is quite different from Eisenstein’s 1920s films. First, there is a shift in story-telling: whereas Strike, Battleship Potemkin, and October feature the proletariat collectively as the main character, in this film, Alexander Nevsky is the hero. The common people are still featured, but they support the great leader and follow his commands. This, of course, echoes the rise of Stalin as dictator. Second, gone is the fast-cutting of Eisenstein’s signature montage. This is at least partly due to Stalin’s insistence that the arts be accessible to the common public. Eisenstein had been severely criticized for being too artsy in his previously aborted film, Bezhin Meadow. For this film, Eisenstein was closely watched, and any “formalist” excursions were reined in by Communist officials. 

Eisenstein’s Ivan the Terrible is a two-part historical film about Ivan IV of Russia. Stalin commissioned the film because it emphasizes a single, strong leader: a Tsar from Russia’s autocratic history. “Socialism in one country,” effectively a nationalistic ideology, had completely replaced the international ideology of Marxism. Like Stalin, Ivan is an iron-fisted ruler only because he must be for the good of the Russian people. Russia is surrounded by foreign enemies, and is threatened from within by spies and scheming Boyars.69 At one point Ivan leaves Moscow, only to return when the people beg him to come back. The point is clear: in times of crisis, a strong leader is needed, and ruthless tactics are justified to protect the country and its people from enemies.70 

Part I won critical acclaim—even winning the Stalin Prize—but Part II was suppressed, and was only released after Stalin’s death during the Khrushchev thaw.71 Did Eisenstein depict Ivan as too terrible? Was there too much religious iconography? Was Eisenstein dabbling in too much experimental “formalism,” rendering his work unsuitable for the masses? It is unclear why Part II was suppressed, and also what Eisenstein’s true political views were. Regardless, both the content and the method of film had evolved dramatically from 1925 to 1946 to suit the changing needs of the Communist Party.

The Legacy of Revolutionary Soviet Film

During the Khrushchev thaw, censorship in the Soviet Union was relaxed somewhat, and Russian filmmakers had more freedom in their cinematic expression.72  Stalin’s successor Nikita Khrushchev eased travel restrictions and created cultural festivals that allowed an influx of diverse works from writers, artists, and filmmakers to come into the Soviet Union. 73 Thus, Soviet cinema took new forms. For instance, Mikhail Kalatozov’s 1957 film The Cranes Are Flying tells a story of the Great Patriotic War, but instead of the prior patriotic Soviet take, the movie depicts the psychological damage of the war on the Soviet people, especially women.74 Similarly, Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1962 film Ivan’s Childhood also deals with the effects of World War II on the mind of a child.75 Soviet filmmaker Sergei Parajanov embraced this new artistic freedom in The Color of Pomegranates (1969), a picture that focuses on the life of a poet almost exclusively through experimental imagery.76 This period demonstrated the diversity of Soviet filmmakers, who began to focus on the personal and the psychological rather than the collective and the political.

While the films during the thaw went a variety of new directions, during the years from the 1917 Revolution to the death of Stalin in 1953, Soviet film propaganda evolved in both substance and form to reflect the changing goals of the Communist Party. Soviet film went through three major periods during those years: The Revolution through the end of NEP, Stalin’s Revolution and modernization, and the Great Patriotic War years. The Communist Party focused on fundamental themes including memorializing the Revolution, rallying the international proletariat, celebrating Bolshevik leadership, uniting the people, promoting the politics of the cultural revolution, and justifying Stalin’s leadership and methods. Through the vivid power of film, great filmmakers promoted the changing policies of the Communist Party to audiences across Russia and throughout the world.77 

 

For the Unity of Marxists with the Dispossessed: The Bolsheviks and the State, 1912-1917

 A reply by Medway Baker to Sophia Burns’  article For the Unity of Marxists, or the Unity of the Dispossessed?.    

In a previous article, Comrade Sophia Burns argued for the “unity of the dispossessed,” in opposition to the “unity of Marxists” proposed by Comrades Rosa Janis and Parker McQueeney. She correctly exposes the largely petit-bourgeois makeup of the contemporary left, critiques its culture of protest (which, as she notes, often does little to build up an organised revolutionary force, but rather “attract[s] dissident anger and channel[s] it harmlessly into the ground”), and identifies that Marxists must “gain experience with class struggle, gradually cultivate a base among the dispossessed, and eventually begin to develop the necessary forces to establish revolutionary sovereignty.” However, she goes too far in her identification of what constitutes collaboration with the bourgeois state. 

Burns is correct that the goal of any Marxist minimum programme must be “not [to] join[] the official political realm but [to] creat[e] an entirely new one, an insurrectionary proletarian state”. But even as she advocates for the overthrow of the state and the establishment of “‘dual power’ the way Lenin meant it”, she rejects key lessons of the Bolshevik experience, both before the establishment of “dual power” and after. When she insists on “not lobbying [the government], participating in its elections… or… protesting it”, Burns leaves to us only a single tactic: the formation of “struggle committees” for the fulfillment of the workers’ demands in their struggles against the bosses and the landlords. Presumably these “struggle committees” are to form the nucleus of the future workers’ state. 

This tactical orientation leaves something to be desired, even by Burns’ own admission. “Something more is needed,” she says. “I don’t know what it is. It’ll take a lot of experimentation and, likely, plenty of failures to figure it out.” This is a respectable position to hold, and she is on the right track. She correctly identifies the need for “mass organizations with communist leadership actively destabilizing the liberal order” and “developing the organizational capacity to govern.” As I have argued in the past, it is necessary to form a workers’ party with a revolutionary programme, which will train the proletariat in self-governance through the formation of counter-hegemonic, democratic proletarian civic institutions. These institutions, administered and staffed by the proletariat, must substitute the functions of the bourgeois state following the seizure of power. Burns is not hostile to party-building—indeed, she admits that it “will likely be necessary”—but her conception of this is not comprehensive. 

In How Do You Do Politics? Burns shows the beginnings of the path forward. Although I have some misgivings about her overall thesis, her tactical orientation of directly engaging with workers in the class struggle is correct. But what comes after? Where do we go once we’ve begun to build up this organic base among the workers? 

In accordance with Burns’ own advocacy of “‘dual power’ the way Lenin meant it”, we will explore the ways in which the Bolsheviks built up their mass base among the proletariat. Contrary to Burns’ insistence that the revolutionary movement must boycott all engagement with the bourgeois state, I will argue that such engagement was crucial to the Bolshevik victory in October 1917. The Bolsheviks did not only engage in elections to the soviets—the “insurrectionary proletarian state”, as Burns puts it—but they also made demands of the Provisional Government, called for the convocation of the Constituent Assembly, and participated in bourgeois elections to the Constituent Assembly and the municipal Dumas. Even before the February Revolution, they participated in elections to the tsarist Duma, which was hardly representative and had no real legislative power. We will also examine the notion of “dual power” in the Bolsheviks’ revolutionary strategy in 1917, in order to provide context for these discussions. 

It is true that many attempts by modern-day Marxists to engage in elections are frankly opportunistic, and fail to advance the revolutionary cause. However, as this foray into Russian revolutionary history will reveal, boycotting elections (and other forms of engagement with the state) on principle would be a grave mistake. Although Cosmonaut has published examinations of communist electoral tactics in the past, this remains a very muddled issue for the left, and Burns’ needed intervention provides an opportunity to clarify how communists should orient ourselves vis-à-vis the state. For the moment, the Marxist left in most of the Global North remains too weak to engage in successful electoral tactics on any significant scale, but if we are to engage in party-building, we must be clear about what we plan to do with the party once it has been formed. It is impossible to formulate short-term tactics without a long-term strategy; hopefully, this examination of the Bolshevik strategy can help to inform Marxist revolutionary strategy today. 

Last session of the third Duma, October 15, 1911.

Before the Revolution: The Duma

The trial has unfolded a picture of revolutionary Social-Democracy taking advantage of parliamentarism, the like of which has not been witnessed in international Socialism. This example will, more than all speeches, appeal to the minds and hearts of the proletarian masses; it will, more than any arguments, repudiate the legalist-opportunists and anarchist phrase-mongers…. There was a Workers’ Party in Russia whose deputies neither shone with fine rhetoric, nor had “access” to the bourgeois intellectual drawing rooms, nor possessed the business-like efficiency of a ‘European’ lawyer and parliamentarian, but excelled in maintaining connections with the working masses, in ardent work among those masses, in carrying out the small, unpretentious, difficult, thankless and unusually dangerous functions of illegal propagandists and organisers…. The ‘Pravdist’ papers and the ‘Muranov type’ of work have brought about the unity of four-fifths of the class-conscious workers of Russia…. It is with this section that we must work. It is its unity that must be defended against social-chauvinism. It is along this road that the labour movement of Russia can develop towards social revolution.

— V. I. Lenin, 19151

The State Duma was hardly a democratic body. It had no true legislative power and absolutely no power over the executive. The Russian workers had little faith in it. Nevertheless, the Bolsheviks chose to participate in the elections, even though they knew they would be totally unable to effect any kind of legislative change towards socialism in doing so. Today, in an age of polarisation between electoral opportunism and abstentionism, this may seem strange. If the Bolsheviks had no illusions in the State Duma, and they were committed to effecting revolutionary change, why would they waste their time with sham elections? 

Before answering this question, we should note that the Bolsheviks were not opposed a priori to a boycott of the Duma. In fact, Lenin proposed just this in 1905, when, in response to the great revolutionary upheaval that had taken hold of Russia, the Tsar’s government proposed the convocation of a Duma which would take on a merely advisory role. Nevertheless, Lenin was opposed to “mere passive abstention from voting,” insisting that a boycott of the elections must be an “active boycott”, which “should imply increasing agitation tenfold, organising meetings everywhere, taking advantage of election meetings, even if we have to force our way into them, holding demonstrations, political strikes, and so on and so forth.”2 It is clear from this formulation that the active boycott tactic can only be applied under the conditions of a mass revolutionary upsurge, and requires the existence of a mass workers’ party. 

Lenin would elaborate on this theme two years later, reflecting on the experience of the 1905 revolution. This time, however, he argued against a boycott of the Duma—not on the basis that the Duma had become any more democratic than before, but on the basis that the situation was no longer conducive to an insurrection: 

The Social-Democrat who takes a Marxist stand draws his conclusions about the boycott not from the degree of reactionariness of one or another institution, but from the existence of those special conditions of struggle that, as the experience of the Russian revolution has now shown, make it possible to apply the specific method known as boycott.3

Further, 

All boycott is a struggle, not within the framework of a given institution, but against its emergence, or, to put it more broadly, against it becoming operative. Therefore, those who… opposed the boycott on the general grounds that it was necessary for a Marxist to make use of representative institutions, thereby only revealed absurd doctrinairism… Unquestionably, a Marxist should make use of representative institutions. Does that imply that a Marxist cannot, under certain conditions, stand for a struggle not within the framework of a given institution but against that institution being brought into existence? No, it does not, because this general argument applies only to those cases where there is no room for a struggle to prevent such an institution from coming into being. The boycott is a controversial question precisely because it is a question of whether there is room for a struggle to prevent the emergence of such institutions…. 

… [T]he boycott is a means of struggle aimed directly at overthrowing the old regime, or, at the worst, i.e., when the assault is not strong enough for overthrow, at weakening it to such an extent that it would be unable to set up that institution, unable to make it operate. Consequently, to be successful the boycott requires a direct struggle against the old regime, an uprising against it and mass disobedience to it in a large number of cases (such mass disobedience is one of the conditions for preparing an uprising). Boycott is a refusal to recognise the old regime, a refusal, of course, not in words, but in deeds, i.e., it is something that finds expression not only in cries or the slogans of organisations, but in a definite movement of the mass of the people, who systematically defy the laws of the old regime, systematically set up new institutions, which, though unlawful, actually exist, and so on and so forth. The connection between boycott and the broad revolutionary upswing is thus obvious: boycott is the most decisive means of struggle, which rejects not the form of organisation of the given institution, but its very existence. Boycott is a declaration of open war against the old regime, a direct attack upon it. Unless there is a broad revolutionary upswing, unless there is mass unrest which overflows, as it were, the bounds of the old legality, there can be no question of the boycott succeeding.4

In Lenin’s formulation, it is thus necessary to use the state institutions to the benefit of the revolutionary movement when opposing the state outright is impossible; to boycott these institutions, without having the ability to truly contest their legitimacy, is to spurn a potentially useful avenue of propaganda and revolutionary work. While it could be argued that this formulation is incorrect or no longer applicable, we must understand this context if we are to understand the Bolsheviks’ use of election campaigns and the Duma rostrum. 

With this in mind, we can return to the question of how participation in the Duma could benefit the revolutionary movement. The writings of Alexei Badayev, a factory worker and a Bolshevik deputy to the Duma from 1912 to 1914, offer a great deal of insight into this matter: 

The Fourth Duma was to follow in the footsteps of the Third. The electoral law remained the same, and therefore the majority in the new Duma was bound to be as Black Hundred as before. There was no doubt that the activities of the Fourth Duma would also be directed against the workers and that its legislation would be of no use either to the workers or the peasantry. 

In spite of these considerations the Social-Democratic Party decided to take an active part in the elections as it had done in those for the Second and Third Dumas. The experience of the preceding years had shown the great importance of an election campaign from the standpoint of agitation, and the important role played by Social-Democratic fractions in the Duma. Our fractions, while refusing to take part in the so-called ‘positive’ work of legislation, used the Duma rostrum for revolutionary agitation. The work of the Social-Democratic fractions outside the Duma was still more important; they were becoming the organising centres of Party work in Russia. Therefore our Party decided that active participation in the campaign was necessary.5

Indeed, the election campaign was a great opportunity for the elaboration of the party’s tactics and the development of the workers’ class-consciousness. Although the tsarist police did their utmost to prevent public meetings during the campaigns, debates in Pravda and Luch (the Mensheviks’ newspaper) were widely read by workers and served to clarify the programme of revolutionary social democracy. This helped set the Bolsheviks’ revolutionary platform (centred around the slogans of a democratic republic, an eight-hour workday, and the confiscation of the landlords’ estates, to which the rest of the minimum programme for workers’ power was to be linked) apart from the opportunistic and legalistic slogans of the Mensheviks (which failed to challenge the tsarist, feudal order in a revolutionary manner).6 The election campaign spurred the Bolsheviks to forge true programmatic unity and then helped them to win the proletariat to this programme. Throughout the campaign, the Bolsheviks and their supporters among the working class were subjected to considerable police repression, and while this disrupted a great deal of potentially valuable propaganda work, it also strengthened the solidarity of the workers. 

The most egregious example of such repression is perhaps the invalidation of the election results from 29 factories and mills throughout St. Petersburg, disqualifying their delegates from participating in the electoral college that would choose electors who would go on, along with the electors of the other classes of St. Petersburg, to select a deputy from among themselves.7 

The disqualification of the delegates triggered a militant reaction by the workers of St. Petersburg: more than 70,000 workers would go out on strike, including many of those whose delegates had not been disqualified. No economic demands were presented; the core of the strike was centered around the right to vote. The workers made a great show of unity and discipline and were able to win their demands: not only were new elections to be held, but many factories and mills which had previously been unable to participate in the elections were to be included.8 It was a great victory for the working class, which exemplifies the value of engaging in political struggles against the state, both through elections and in the streets. The electoral and street actions reinforced each other and pushed the class struggle beyond simple economistic demands to a question of state power. The crucial factor is the presentation of concrete demands on a class basis, demands that expose the fundamental opposition between the exploiters and the exploited, the rulers and the ruled. This type of engagement with the state is hardly comparable to the opportunistic election campaigns and liberal activist culture to which so much of the modern left is wedded. 

The election campaign was conducted upon a revolutionary, class basis, which united workers around the struggle for their political rights and the Bolshevik programme. The campaign forced the distinctions between the revolutionary Bolsheviks and the “legalist-opportunist” Mensheviks out into the open, for all the workers to see. It mobilised the forces of labour against the ruling class in a tangible way that clearly raised the workers’ class consciousness. Following the second round of elections, the workers voted to bind their delegates to a set of instructions drafted by the Bolsheviks, which laid out the role of the deputies as specifically revolutionary:

The Duma tribune is, under the present conditions, one of the best means for enlightening and organising the broad masses of the proletariat. 

It is for this very purpose that we are sending our deputy into the Duma, and we charge him and the whole Social-Democratic fraction of the Fourth Duma to make widely known our demands from the Duma tribune, and not to play at legislation in the State Duma…. 

We want to hear the voices of the members of the Social-Democratic fraction ring out loudly from the Duma tribune proclaiming the final goal of the proletariat…. We call upon the Social-Democratic- fraction of the Fourth Duma, in its work on the basis of the above slogans, to act in unity and with its ranks closed.

Let it gather its strength from constant contact with the broad masses. 

Let it march shoulder to shoulder with the political organisation of the working class of Russia.9

The Bolshevik deputies elected to the Duma held to this promise. “During my daily visits to the Pravda offices,” Badayev recalls, “I met the representatives of labour organisations and became acquainted with the moods of the workers. Workers came there from all the city districts and related what had taken place at factories and works, and how the legal and illegal organisations were functioning. Conversations and meetings with the representatives of the revolutionary workers supplied me with a vast amount of material for my future activity in the Duma.”10 

Once within the halls of Tauride Palace, where the Duma sat, the Social-Democratic fraction declared its irreconcilable opposition to the legislative work of the body from day one. They refused to participate in electing the chairman of the Duma, as “the chairman of such a Duma would systematically attack members of the Social-Democratic fraction, whenever the latter spoke from the Duma rostrum in defence of the interests of the masses…. You are welcome to choose a chairman acceptable to the majority; we shall use the rostrum in the interests of the people.”11 In Badayev’s words: 

… [W]e demonstrated, on the first day of the Fourth Duma, that there could be no question of ‘parliamentary’ work for us, that the working class only used the Duma for the greater consolidation and strengthening of the revolutionary struggle in the country. A similar attitude determined the nature of our relations with the Duma majority. No joint work, but a sustained struggle against the Rights, the Octobrists and the Cadets, and their exposure in the eyes of the workers; this was the task of the workers’ deputies in the Duma of the landlords and nobles.12

Another example of the mutual reinforcement of mass action and activities in the Duma came only a short while later. The metalworkers’ union—one of the most advanced workers’ organisations in Russia, with which the party had conducted a great deal of work—was subjected, like all Russian trade unions, to periodic suppressions, forcing it to refound itself under a new name each time. In late 1912, once again, the police shut down the union and worked to prevent its refoundation. In the process, both the police and the municipal government violated the 1906 law that accorded some meager protections to the unions. 

The Social-Democratic fraction took advantage of these illegal proceedings to register an interpellation. This process was always convoluted, and the government did all it could to limit speeches and debate. Nevertheless, the Social-Democratic fraction took advantage of whatever parts of the bureaucratic procedure they could. In particular, they were allowed to make speeches to argue for the urgency of a matter, which would have to be accepted in order for the interpellation to be made. Although the urgency of those matters raised by the Social-Democrats was consistently denied, the fraction frequently used these speeches to denounce the government and call for revolution. In this particular instance, on December 14, the interpellation was accompanied by a one-day strike of the St. Petersburg workers, who held public meetings to pass resolutions of protest against the suppression of the trade unions, and in support of the Social-Democratic fraction’s interpellation. 

What the Social-Democrats had planned as a one-day strike continued the next day, and expanded to include even more workers than the day before. Some of the “unreliable” workers were fired, and this only triggered a third day of strikes, demanding their reinstatement. The Social-Democratic fraction remained at the centre of workers’ struggles during these days. They remained in constant contact with the strikers, helped to coordinate funds and develop slogans, and served as negotiators with the authorities. The workers of the whole city supported, in words and in deeds, the plight of the dismissed workers, and the strike ultimately lasted over two weeks.13

By 1914, the Bolsheviks were a truly mass workers’ party, despite their conditions of illegality. But with the outbreak of the war, this work all came to an end. Patriotic sentiments were running high: pro-war demonstrators marched through the streets, praising the Tsar and beating passers-by who failed to meet the correct standards of nationalist fervour; workers’ organisations were suppressed, and patriotic onlookers aided the police in clashes with strikers and anti-war demonstrators.14

The Bolsheviks declared “War against War”15, and walked out of the Duma rather than participate in the vote for war credits. The Bolshevik deputies were soon arrested, in violation of their parliamentary immunity. The workers protested but were too weak to secure the freedom of the deputies. The party was crippled by the destruction of this centre of revolutionary work, along with the destruction of so many other organising centres. The proletariat won only a single victory in this regard: the government, fearing a backlash in the case that they were to execute the deputies, turned the case over from the military to the civilian courts. 16

Even this was an opportunity for propaganda among the workers, and the party and the deputies seized upon it. The trial was highly publicised by the Bolshevik press, and the deputies defended their revolutionary work with zeal. They insisted that the Russian workers would remember this repression of their chosen representatives, and foretold that they would “not remain long in exile but [would] soon return in triumph.”17 

And so, in 1917, they did. 

From the First Revolution to the Second: Dual Power

The deputies, alongside the rest of the Bolshevik party, returned from exile following the overthrow of the Tsar in February. The bourgeoisie had formed a Provisional Government; the workers and soldiers had formed the soviets. The former represented the bourgeois republic; the latter, the workers’ and peasants’ republic. Lenin described this situation using the term “dual power.” Let us examine what he meant by this, and what political conclusions he drew from this analysis. 

According to the old way of thinking, the rule of the bourgeoisie could and should be followed by the rule of the proletariat and the peasantry, by their dictatorship. 

In real life, however, things have already turned out differently; there has been an extremely original, novel and unprecedented interlacing of the one with the other. We have side by side, existing together, simultaneously, both the rule of the bourgeoisie (the government of Lvov and Guchkov) and a revolutionary-democratic dictatorship of the proletariat and the peasantry, which is voluntarily ceding power to the bourgeoisie, voluntarily making itself an appendage of the bourgeoisie.

For it must not be forgotten that actually, in Petrograd, the power is in the hands of the workers and soldiers; the new government is not using and cannot use violence against them, because there is no police, no army standing apart from the people, no officialdom standing all-powerful above the people. 

… [F]reely elected soldiers’ and peasants’ deputies are freely joining the second, parallel government, and are freely supplementing, developing and completing it. And, just as freely, they are surrendering power to the bourgeoisie…18

It is important to note that “power” (vlast) refers specifically to the sovereign state authority. This is a key point: the existence of more than one vlast is necessarily a contradiction in terms because by definition there can only be one sovereign authority in a single state. “Dual power”, then, is a situation in which the narod (the workers and peasants, analogous to Burns’ use of “the dispossessed”) and the bourgeoisie each has an embryonic vlast, the former (the Soviets of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies) being unwilling to establish a “firm vlast”, and the latter (the Provisional Government) being unable to establish one. In effect, then, there is no true vlast under these conditions. The necessary outcome of this situation is, therefore, the end of dual power, and the establishment of a firm vlast around a single class pole: either that of the bourgeoisie (in the form of the Provisional Government) or that of the narod (in the form of the soviets).19  Lenin summarised this situation thus: 

The bourgeoisie stands for the undivided power (vlast) of the bourgeoisie. 

The class-conscious workers stand for the undivided power (vlast) of the Soviets of Workers’, Agricultural Labourers’, Peasants’, and Soldiers’ Deputies—for undivided power (vlast) made possible not by adventurist acts, but by clarifying proletarian minds, by emancipating them from the influence of the bourgeoisie20

We must ably, carefully, clear people’s minds and lead the proletariat and poor peasantry forward, away from ‘dual power’ towards the full power of the Soviets of Workers’ Deputies.21

Soviet power came into existence in February; October was merely the point at which it ceased to tolerate the Provisional Government, ending the period of “dual power.” To speak, then, of dual power as an aim of the revolutionary movement is to fundamentally misunderstand the lessons of October. In the Bolsheviks’ view, dual power was never an aim but an unexpected obstacle—an aberrant result of the peculiar conditions of the Russian Revolution—which was to be overcome. 

Even so, the Bolsheviks were not opposed to the convention of the Constituent Assembly; in fact, they often criticised the Provisional Government for delaying the elections to it. One of the first demands of the Bolsheviks following the February Revolution was “to convene a Constituent Assembly as speedily as possible” (alongside the establishment of the soviet vlast).22 Lenin noted upon his return to Russia, 

I attacked the Provisional Government for not having appointed an early date, or any date at all, for the convocation of the Constituent Assembly, and for confining itself to promises. I argued that without the Soviets  of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies the convocation of the Constituent Assembly is not guaranteed and its success is impossible.23

Even beyond this, the Bolsheviks participated in the municipal Duma elections in the summer of 1917, much in the same way they used the prewar Duma elections. In particular, they took advantage of the campaign to make a series of demands of the Provisional Government—demands which they knew the government could not meet. “Unless these demands are met,” Pravda proclaimed, “unless a fight is waged for these demands, not a single serious municipal reform and no democratization of municipal affairs is conceivable.”24 These demands were explicitly connected to the transfer of power to the narod. Although the municipal Dumas were not class organs—they did not represent the “insurrectionary state”—the election campaigns were used by the Bolsheviks to agitate for the takeover of the full vlast by the insurrectionary state, as well as to measure the balance of class forces.25 They heartily urged the workers and soldiers to vote, in such forceful terms as: “You, and you alone, comrades, will be to blame if you do not make full use of this right [to vote]…. [B]e capable now of battling for your interests by voting for our Party!”26 

Making demands of the Provisional Government was a key tactic of the Bolshevik party during the revolutionary period. Although in April there was a debate between Lenin and the other Bolsheviks over the issue of “kontrol”, that is, supervision of the Provisional Government by the Soviet, Lars Lih chalks this up to essentially a misunderstanding between Lenin and the Petrograd Bolsheviks, which was resolved by the end of April in a manner that satisfied both camps. The crux of the debate was over the role of kontrol in the revolution: while the moderate socialists proposed kontrol as a means of maintaining the vlast of the Provisional Government, the Bolsheviks proposed it as a means of exposing the Provisional Government as incapable of carrying out the revolution “to the end.”27 

This tactic of making demands, in order to expose the Provisional Government’s counterrevolutionary nature, was used to great effect throughout 1917. The Bolsheviks maintained in their propaganda that the Provisional Government, to the extent that it carried out revolutionary measures against tsarism, only did so under pressure from the workers and soldiers, and its ultimate counterrevolutionary nature would inevitably lead to a confrontation between revolutionary democracy (i.e. the narod) and the bourgeoisie. Hence, demands for a democratic republic, an end to the war, redistribution of the land, the publication and annulment of the secret treaties, etc. were not made under the pretense that the Provisional Government would or could carry these out. Stalin wrote in August: 

The Party declares that unless these demands are realized it will be impossible to save the revolution, which for half a year now has been stifling in the clutches of war and general disruption. 

The Party declares that the only possible way of securing these demands is to break with the capitalists, completely liquidate the bourgeois counter-revolution, and transfer power in the country to the revolutionary workers, peasants, and soldiers. 

That is the only means of saving the country and the revolution from collapse.28

This method must be clearly delineated from that of making demands in a way that obscures the necessity of taking power. Revolution is not a secondary concern in this type of propaganda, but placed front and centre. Demands are formulated specifically in connection with overthrowing the bourgeoisie: “All propaganda, agitation and the organisation of the millions must immediately be directed towards [transferring power to the soviets].”29

This way of making demands of the bourgeois state is far from the usual, liberal-democratic practice of lobbying. These demands, backed up by organising the proletariat through the Bolshevik type of electoral work and street actions, can be a valuable weapon in the arsenal of the revolution. It is true that none of these methods individually can accomplish revolution, but that goes just as much for organising workers in “struggle committees” as it does for electoral participation, making demands of the government, or participating in street protests. Ultimately, the Bolsheviks used all four of these tools to win the confidence of the dispossessed and take power in October. 

Bolshevik Central Committee on the eve of the revolution.

Conclusion

Burns is correct to call for Marxists to focus on organising the proletariat, and she is equally correct to identify erroneous, opportunistic and petit-bourgeois activist tendencies in the contemporary left. However, her solution falls short: her tactical inflexibility leads her to reject participation in elections or making demands of the bourgeois state out of hand—tactics which, as we have shown above, were crucial to the Bolshevik victory in October. 

Comrades Janis and McQueeney are correct to call for programmatic unity of revolutionary Marxists, and they are correct to identify DSA as one possible avenue through which to fight for this unity. The task of Marxists in DSA is not only to organise the working class, but also to fight for a revolutionary programme, and to elaborate on the tactics that may assist organising efforts. While there is an influential opportunistic tendency in DSA that insists on tailing the Democratic Party (either temporarily or indefinitely), this is not the only possible electoral tactic. This opportunism must be fought against, in favour of a class-independent electoral tactic; one that, like the Bolsheviks’, serves to heighten the consciousness of the proletariat, to rally their numbers to the revolutionary programme, and above all to support DSA’s organising work. The specifics of this tactic must be left up to the revolutionary Marxists in DSA, who will need to deliberate among themselves, examine the objective conditions, and engage in debate with both opportunists and abstentionists in order to formulate a revolutionary orientation to bourgeois elections suitable to 21st-century American conditions. That said, the core of this tactic must consist of: 

    1. An immediate break with the Democratic Party and all other bourgeois parties, 
    2. Using electoral and parliamentary work above all to support the task of organising the proletariat, rather than for its own sake, and 
    3. Irreconcilable opposition to the American state, its military and police, and taking advantage of every opportunity to obstruct its functioning. 

It is possible that the best electoral tactic for the present moment is to temporarily refrain from electoral work in favour of organising the working class. It is also possible that the best electoral tactic will involve participation in elections at various levels of government in different degrees. A discussion of these details is well beyond the scope of this essay, but it is urgent that such discussions take place, that revolutionary Marxists in DSA begin to forge programmatic unity, and that the struggle is taken up against opportunist collaboration with the bourgeois state. 

Comrade Burns asks us: “For the unity of Marxists, or the unity of the dispossessed?” This question, although thought-provoking in a necessary way, sets up a false dichotomy. For the Bolsheviks, there was never a question of one or the other. They saw the programmatic unity of revolutionary Marxists as bringing about the unity of the dispossessed around the programme of revolution; and this unity of the dispossessed, in turn, empowered the party of revolution, transforming it from a circle of intellectuals into a potent weapon of the class struggle. The revolution was made possible, not by one or the other, but by both: the unity of Marxists with the dispossessed, the unity of the revolutionary programme with the workers’ movement. This is the lesson of the October Revolution; this is the lesson that we must remember, as the left vacillates between opportunism and impotency if we are to recreate a revolutionary movement, if we are to win power, if we are to achieve communism. 

‘Expelled, but Communist’ by Boris Souvarine

Translation and introduction by Medway Baker. 

Boris Souvarine was one of the leading founders of the French Communist Party (PCF) in 1921, after having founded the weekly Bulletin communiste, a publication dedicated to promoting adherence to the Communist International, in 1920. Bulletin communiste became an organ of the PCF, but ceased publication in late 1924, after Souvarine was expelled from the party for his support of Trotsky (with whom he would later break) in the Soviet factional struggles. This was part of a process called “Bolshevisation,” in which the Comintern’s member parties were brought into line with the commands of the centre (sometimes for the better, often as an expression of Soviet factional struggles). In the piece we present today, Souvarine fervently denies that this process has anything to do with the “true Bolshevism” of Lenin; in fact, he asserts that it marks a return to the “degenerated socialism” of the Second International.

The piece below was published in October 1925, in the first issue of the new Bulletin communiste refounded by Souvarine following his expulsion. In this article, he discusses not only Bolshevization, but also the French syndicalists, especially Alfred Rosmer and Pierre Monatte. Both of these revolutionaries became committed militants of the Communist Party (Rosmer in 1921, Monatte in 1923), only to be expelled alongside Souvarine in late 1924. Below, Souvarine both defends the place of these “communist syndicalists” in the PCF (while excoriating the “neo-Leninists of 1924”), and critiques them and their publication, Révolution prolétarienne, for once again taking up the syndicalist name.

At the heart of this piece is ultimately a commitment to organizing communists across theoretical lines. What matters for Souvarine is not theoretical shibboleths, but a commitment to class warfare, to the principle of communists’ active support of workers’ everyday struggles, to the dictatorship of the proletariat—in a word, to revolutionary Marxism. Serving the working class is communists’ highest duty for Souvarine, and this requires not only supporting the struggles of the exploited masses but also uniting the forces of those revolutionaries who have a common aim and method, the aim and method of revolutionary Marxism. This was what Souvarine fought for when he agitated within the Socialist Party (SFIO) for acceptance of the Comintern’s principles; this was what he fought for after his expulsion from the party he helped to build, insisting that the former syndicalists should not abandon the banner of communism, and that “when the Party really works for the proletariat, we should be with it.” It is only when the forces of revolutionary Marxism are united in the class struggle, in the service of the exploited and oppressed, that revolutionaries can truly advance the communist project.

Although Souvarine would ultimately grow farther and farther away from the communist movement, we present this piece on its own merits, as a defense of Marxist unity, and as a critique of both Stalinism and syndicalism.


Portrait of Souvarine and Anatoli Lunatscharsky

Expelled, but Communist

Translated from “Exclus, mais communistes,” Bulletin communiste 6, no. 1 (October 23, 1925).

There was but a handful of men in 1914 who stood against the unleashing of bourgeois and proletarian chauvinism, the abdication of the International, the bankruptcy of socialism, syndicalism, and anarchism, the collapse of international solidarity between workers.

There was but a handful of revolutionaries in 1917 who supported the Bolsheviks, reviled and hunted; who expressed an active sympathy with them before their victory, and remained loyal to it in the bleakest of hours.

There are today, amid the crisis of international communism, but a handful of indomitable men who maintain the vital spirit of Marxist critique, who continue the living tradition of communism, who maintain proletarian consciousness in their class pride—against the deviations of the revolutionary organisation, against the abandonment of the proletariat’s general interest to the bureaucratic coteries, against the mortal dangers of adventurism, servility, and corruption.

The task is thankless and grueling. The architects of this curative resistance are drowned in contempt. The working class, misled once again, no longer recognise their own. But the men of the proletariat and the revolution have been through worse. They hold out. The certainty of the duty fulfilled animates them, their faith in immutably serving the same cause and being armed with tested communist truths fortifies them. If they needed, in 1914 and 1917, to “hope to engage,” they have been able to dispense with “succeeding to persevere.” Even more so, in 1924, they made their choice without regret, rich with the enlightening experience of the past ten years, which assured that their initial meager band was destined to become legion.

The outcome of the endeavor called “Bolshevization,” in accordance with the so-called “Leninism” invented after the death of Lenin, is not in the slightest doubt: it will be—it already is—a disaster. Russian Bolshevism, undefeated by the assaults of the capitalist world, diminished only by its recent internecine struggles, in time put aside the most novice exaggerations of the methods instituted after Lenin’s death. As for European neo-Bolshevism, the monstrous caricature of true Bolshevism, this has already gone bankrupt a year after its appearance, and it would disappear from the contemporary schools—if we can even call a set of sad practices a “school”—if it were not artificially supported by the Soviet Revolution, the strength of which is not the least bit revealed by the number of its parasites.

And the outcome of the work undertaken by the menders of the diverted communist movement is not anymore in doubt. But our efforts will be met with success only by a single condition: to remain loyal to the proven approaches that led to the strength of contemporary communism. The assimilation of knowledge and experiences acquired over the course of the last ten years of wars and revolutions is indispensable to the progression of the communist idea. The original traditions of the proletariat of each country are incorporated into this. But a return to old concepts, displaced by the active science of revolution, would be a veritable regression, no matter how revolutionary these concepts may have been in their time. We raise the question of whether the organ of our companions in the struggle for the restitution of the errant revolutionary movement, Révolution prolétarienne, by sporting the label of “communist syndicalist” (syndicaliste communiste), is taking a step forward or a step back.


(Revolutionary) syndicalism borrowed the elements of its school in part from Marxism, in part from Bakuninism, and in part from the mixed heritage of utopianism, reformism, and heroic insurrectionism, transmitted from generation to generation among the proletariat of the Latin countries. Even though the unevenness of its formation damned it to rapid extinction, it was able to represent a stage of communist thought superior to the degenerated socialism of the Second International: not only because the latter, in its decline, conferred an easy prestige on the former, but essentially because its practice was worth far more than its theory. This is why the Bolsheviks, before even having founded the Third International, considered the syndicalists to be allies, as a variety of communists destined to merge sooner or later into the organizations of communism.

Even more: the Bolsheviks knew to treat anarchists, strictly speaking, as combatants of the proletarian revolution, as auxiliaries, as possible reinforcements. Lenin wrote State and Revolution both to re-establish the Marxist conception of the abolition of the state, and to demonstrate that communists were differentiated from anarchists, on this point, by their means, and not by their goals.

In light of the plain failure of international socialism during the imperialist war, the rebirth of the proletarian International was accomplished with the aid of syndicalists and anarchists. Zimmerwald and Kienthal were our common will. Lenin was the one who directed this policy. Those excluded from the Congress of London in 1896 re-entered the International, under the aegis of left social democrats, radical Marxists, and Bolsheviks.

The first French section of the Communist International, called the Committee of the 3rd International (Comité de la IIIe Internationale), was formed from three subsections: left socialists, syndicalists, and anarchists. It was consecrated as the French branch of the new International. If anarchists and syndicalists split with us, it was of their own free will, not of ours. Repeatedly, even Zinoviev felt the need to address greetings to Péricat, which, in his fashion, he overemphasized….

The founding conference of the Communist International, in March 1919, declared in its “Platform”:

“It is vital to form a bloc with elements of the revolutionary workers’ movement who, in spite of the fact that they did not earlier belong to the socialist party, have essentially declared for the proletarian dictatorship through the soviets, that is to say, with syndicalist elements.”

In January 1920, the Communist International addressed a message to the revolutionary syndicalists and anarchists of the Untied States, the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW):

“Our goal is the same as yours: a community without a state, without a government, without classes, in which the workers will administer production and distribution in the interest of all.

“We invite you, revolutionaries, to rally to the Communist International, born at the dawn of the global social revolution. We invite you to take the place that is yours by right of your courage and revolutionary experience, at the forefront of the proletarian red army battling under the banner of communism.”

On the French syndicalists in particular, here is how Zinoviev spoke in 1922, at the 3rd World Congress, when Lenin was still there to give him instructions:

“The most important political observation made by the Executive and its representatives, of which several, such as Humbert-Droz, have spent nearly six months in France, is that—and we must speak frankly—we must search for a large number of communist elements in the ranks of the syndicalists, the best syndicalists, that is to say the communist syndicalists. It is strange, but it is thus.”

The same Zinoviev, in the same year, at the 2nd Congress of the Red International of Labour Unions, adopted this language:

“As we all know, the Second International was stricken by ostracism, and excluded from its organization whoever was more or less anarchist. The leaders of the Second International wanted nothing to do with these elements. They held the same attitude with regard to the syndicalists. The Third International has broken with this tradition. Born in the tempest of the world war, it has realized that we must have an entirely different attitude towards the syndicalists and anarchists.”

And Zinoviev referred to the first congress of the new International:

“At the First Congress of the CI, we said, ‘No one is asking the question: Do you call yourself an anarchist or a syndicalist? We ask you: Are you a partisan or an adversary of the imperialist war, for a relentless class struggle or no, for or against the bourgeoisie? If you are for the struggle against our class enemy, you are one of us…’”

This is not all. Zinoviev said further:

“We estimate that all the anarchists and all the syndicalists who are the sincere partisans of class struggle are our brothers.”

And finally, so as to quash any sort of ambiguity:

“The anarchists have organised a whole range of attacks against us. However, we do not intend to revisit our attitude in regard to the anarchists and syndicalists. We maintain our positions. As Marxists, we will be patient until the very process of class struggle brings into our ranks proletarian elements who still remain outside of our organisation.”

It would be superfluous to quote any more to determine the traditional policy of the Communist International towards communist syndicalists.


This policy has borne its fruits. The Communist International has recruited among the syndicalist ranks—perhaps anarchist syndicalists, more likely communist syndicalists—the elements that we have always considered “the best,” and without which certain sections of the Communist International would not exist.

In America, it was among the syndicalists (William Foster, Andreychin, Bill Haywood, Crosby), among the left socialists around The Liberator sympathetic to the IWW (John Reed, Max Eastman), among the anarchists (Robert Minor, Bill Chatov), that it found most of its communists.

In England and Ireland, it was among the syndicalists (Tom Mann, Jim Larkin, Jack Tanner) and in the movement of the Shop Stewards’ Committees, of a syndicalist nature (Murphy, Tom Bell, etc.), that it recruited.

In Spain, it was among the syndicalists and the anarchists that it found Joaquim Maurín, Arlandis, Andrés Nin, Casanellas, and many others.

In France, finally, the Communist International drew from the syndicalist ranks those who, alongside the new militants who emerged from the war, should, according to the CI, exercise decisive influence, and gradually eliminate that of the social democrats inherited from the old party, of obsolete Jaurèsism and null Guesdism. It was by Lenin’s uncontested authority that Rosmer became the primary French representative to the Executive. It was Zinoviev, Lozovsky, and Manuilsky who accorded the highest priority to bringing Monatte into the Party. Certainly, Trotsky was not the last to support this policy, but never did he give up on winning the communist syndicalists to the purely Marxist conception of communism, and his last discussion with Louzon remains memorable.

Even today, when the French Communist Party is diminished, emptied, weakened, after a year of pseudo-Leninist dominion, it is the syndicalists of yesterday, the anarchists of the day before yesterday, like Monmousseau and Dudilleux, that the Executive is forced to go find.

How, then, can we explain the 1924 neo-Leninists’ spontaneous and systematic defamation of this “communist syndicalist” journal, even though all the Communist International’s platforms, resolutions, commentaries, traditions, recruitment practices, command them to treat its founders as friends, as allies, as communists, and even as “brothers,” as Zinoviev has said?

The answer becomes clear with irresistible logic and force, disengaged from the official communist texts quoted above: these false “Leninists” act as the most vulgar social democrats. They have naturally adopted the attitude of the Second International—condemned by the Third, to which they are profoundly foreign, or into which they have intruded. These people know nothing of our movement, of our ideas, of our history. Placed in the presence of an unexpected question, to which the solution was not prepared for them by the bureaucracy allocated to this task, and to which their inaptitude for work prevented them from finding enlightenment in the documents available to all, they improvised an answer, and, as is their habit, pronounced a great deal.

Their specifically social-democratic reaction to “communist syndicalism” characterizes an entire doctrine.

“How can one be Persian?” Montesquieu jested agreeably. “How can one be a communist syndicalist?” ask the creators of 1924’s “Leninism.” The Communist International, in the time of Lenin and Trotsky, responded in advance. It was only after the death of the first and the absence of the second that in this question, as in so many others, true Bolshevism was thrown out, and replaced by the offensive return of degenerated socialism, masked in neo-Leninism.


But if Révolution prolétarienne is far above the commentaries of its detractors, it is within range of the critique of its friends, of those who, in agreement with Zinoviev on this question, consider communist syndicalists to be “brothers.” And we must clearly say that many of us do not approve of the label.

What is our rationale? Ten issues of the journal have appeared and we have found nothing that justifies the abandonment of that which we call simply “communism.” Monatte and Rosmer said after their expulsion: “We return to whence we came.” This is meaningless. Why not remain that which they had become—“communists”? We understand that they still are communists. But this should suffice. Unless the experience has led them to introduce something new into their theories? They have surely not abandoned the old without mature reflection.

Monatte, Rosmer, and Delagarde were expelled from the Party by way of senseless accusations—with the secret aim of pushing them down a hill that they could not reclimb. This wish was immediately dashed, and none of those who knew them expected anything else: only foreigners to the communist workers’ movement could hope to eliminate them. They remained themselves, but they changed their name. As if they wanted only to differentiate themselves from the demagogues who discredit the communist name. But the name of syndicalist is no more pristine than that of communist; the marks are less recent, is all.

They remain loyal to the Marxist conception of class struggle, the proletarian dictatorship, the state. And as for Lenin’s conception of the Party and the International? They said to our comrades, after their own expulsion, “Remain in the Party, you are in your proper place.” And they discussed the day when the party would become truly communist, when the mass of communists outside of the party would retake it, themselves among them. None of this has anything to do with syndicalism.

All that remains is that they are profoundly disappointed with the degeneration of this Party that together we attempted to make communist, and that they do not wish to renew their attempt, preferring instead that others do so. An understandable feeling, but a feeling only, and totally personal. They can even less theorize it than they can say simply, “Comrades, remain in the Party.”

In fact, when it comes to true syndicalism, we found nothing other than an article by Allot. And this syndicalism is nothing new; it is old, and it is not of the best of its kind. Allot’s article, so remarkable on a number of fronts, serious, documented, and instructive, ended on an elementary critique of the intervention of the Party in a strike. But what does Allot demonstrate? Exactly the opposite of his intention. He proved that the Party did well to intervene in the strike in question. Whose fault is it if “the trade union organizations appeared to be erased”? If the facts establish that syndicalism does not suffice at all? It is a critique that well represents the impotence of syndicalist theory, as this justifies the criticized acts. Since when have strikes had for their goal to save the trade unions from their “erasure”? Is the strike conducted for the union, or is the union made for the strike? The strike has as its goal the satisfaction of demands: if the goal is achieved, all that has contributed is good. If the Party plays a part, all the better for the workers first, for the Party after. Nothing is more legitimate than the benefit gained by the party from serving the working class. What is condemnable is an attempt to profit from a situation to the detriment of the working class; but nothing like this took place at Douarnenez. “Communists,” said Marx and Engels, “have no interests distinct from those of the proletariat in general.” This undying principle remains our law: the communist party that lives up to it acts well, that which discards it loses its communist quality.

The Party that has lost its political sense, its consciousness of its role, intervenes by disserving the movement that it pretends to support. The clumsiness, incapacity or indignity of those responsible cannot be placed on the principle of interference. It is possible that at Douarnenez, certain communists said foolish things, but none of them had a monopoly, and this does not prove that the Party should not involve itself in workers’ struggles. Critiquing the mistakes made, without having the special goal of emphasizing the union or the Party, simply in pursuing the interest of the strike, this is serving the working class and, at the same time, without doing so expressly, the union and the Party themselves. Because the union and the Party have no other well-understood interest than that of the proletariat.

That which discredits our Party and our International is a tendency to ignore the interest of the working class to serve the interests of the bureaucrats. But when the Party really works for the proletariat, we should be with it. This is made all the easier for us by the fact that it was us, including Monatte and Rosmer, who worked so hard to substantiate this idea that the Party must occupy itself a little less with vulgar politics and much more with workers’ struggles. If the communist deputies loitered less in the halls of the Chamber and frequented more the meetings of strikers, all the better.

The remnants of old doctrinaire syndicalism, the attempt to revive ideas that have no more historic value, are not progress from the step already traversed by the syndicalists who became communists. And they add to the already large confusion that troubles the consciousness of the working-class vanguard. The less of this we find in Révolution prolétarienne, the more it will strengthen itself in its task of revolutionary restitution.

The question of a return to syndicalism could perhaps have been posed if the communism of 1919-1923, true communism, that of the first four congresses of the Third International, that of Lenin and Trotsky, had failed. Such a catastrophe would have put into question all its theories, all its practices. But happily, nothing of the sort came to pass. That which failed was not communism, but its caricature, the “Leninism of 1924.” That which failed was not Bolshevism, but its parody, so-called “Bolshevization.”

The communism of Marx and Engels, Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg, Lenin and Trotsky, is sufficient to guide militants to working-class emancipation. The last word has not been said. More will come who add onto the greatest teachings of the communists. But the spirit of communism will be immutable, and we will inspire ourselves to serve our cause with dignity. 

‘Evolution of the National Question’ and ‘The East and Revolution’ by Safarov

Translation and Introduction by Medway Baker.

Safarov (upper right) with Ural Regional Soviet, circa 1918.

Georgy Safarov was born in St. Petersburg in 1891. He joined the Bolsheviks in 1908, and from 1910 spent many years exiled in Switzerland, returning to Russia alongside Lenin in 1917. Despite spending most of his political career up until the revolution in Western Europe, he took a keen interest in the national question, especially the plight of the Muslim population of Russian Central Asia. He was sent to Soviet Turkestan in 1919 to aid in the establishment of soviet power and the fight against the counterrevolutionary Basmachi movement. The complexity of carrying out these tasks—establishing soviet power, winning over the oppressed masses, building socialism, and combatting both counterrevolutionary nationalism and Russian chauvinism—led Safarov to engage in a comprehensive study of Central Asian economic and social conditions. The two pieces we present below were written around the time that Safarov was engaged in a struggle with Mikhail Tomsky, who also had come to hold a leadership position in Soviet Turkestan. Tomsky, as Matthieu Renault elaborates in his essay Revolution Decentered: Two Studies on Lenin, wished to transplant the methods used with regard to the peasantry in the Russian core—the tax-in-kind, etc.—directly to Turkestan, without consideration for the national chauvinism and economic dominance of Russian peasants, workers, and administrators, and the resentment of the native population towards these colonisers. To this proposal, Safarov counterposed the establishment of committees of the poor peasants and distribution of the lands of the large landowners to these peasants, in order to encourage class conflict within the Muslim population, against both their own elites and the Russian colonisers. As Renault demonstrates, Lenin—eternally concerned with Great Russian chauvinism and bureaucratism—attempted to mediate between the two, but clearly sided with Safarov. This was a struggle that he and Safarov were to lose.

The first essay, The Evolution of the National Question, published in the French publication Bulletin communiste in early 1921, is a brief sketch of the development of the national question throughout the revolutionary period, and concludes with a list of problems and a set of prescriptions for the Soviet government to act upon. The style, structure, and content suggest that it was rather hastily written as a call to action, a feature that we have attempted to preserve in this translation. The second, The East and Revolution, published in Bulletin communiste a few months after (and having been published in German in late 1920), greatly elaborates on the content of the first article, with references to anthropological, economic, and historical studies, especially of the Central Asian peoples of the Russian Empire. In the spirit of scientific inquiry, Safarov examines the nature of imperialism, its effect on the economies and societies of colonised nations, the changes in the global and Russian situations since the beginning of the First World War, and the experiences of the national-democratic and proletarian revolutions occurring worldwide in the wake of the war. He then discusses solutions to the national question, in an earnest attempt to resolve the tensions inherent to the national-democratic and socialist revolutions in Russia, and by extension the world.

A key part of his solution is the soviets, which he identifies as “a class organisation borrowed from the proletariat of the advanced countries.”

But the importance of the soviets, for Safarov, is not the particularities of the soviet form as manifested in Russia in 1917 (he in fact refers also to the anjoman, a type of revolutionary council that emerged during the Persian Constitutional Revolution of 1906-09). Rather, it is their status as popular organs of the revolutionary masses, created in the actual process of the class struggle, and as anti-agreementist organs from which the exploiting strata are excluded. For Safarov, the significance of the soviet form is not in their size, nor in their organisational norms; it is in their class composition. Only the class-independence of the labouring masses (the proletariat, the peasantry, and the petty producers alike) from their exploiters can fully carry out the project of national liberation from imperialism. The native exploiters, Safarov demonstrates, will inevitably betray the interests of the majority of the nation in favor of their own class interests, and in so doing will side with imperialist dictatorship.

It is crucial to note that Safarov does not at any point confuse national liberation with the transition to communism, nor does he advocate liquidation of the proletarian struggle against exploitation into the pure struggle for national liberation. On the contrary, he stresses that “this entire programme [for national liberation] has not a single communist element,” and insists on the necessity of “conserving at all price the independence of the workers’ movement, even in its embryonic form.” For Safarov, the struggle for national liberation is a necessary component of the progression towards communism, of the development of the exploited masses’ revolutionary consciousness — but national-democratic revolutionaries are not to be confused with communists, and it is the duty of communists to struggle against these elements in order to win over the exploited masses.

It is notable that for Safarov, the national policy he proposes “coincides with another [task]: that of winning the masses of petty producers, the middle peasants of Central Russia to soviet rule.” In effect, the alliance of the Russian workers and peasants with the toiling masses of the oppressed nations is mirrored by the alliance between the proletariat and the peasanty (the smychka). Just as the Russian proletariat was incapable of exercising power without the support and active participation of the peasantry (unless they wanted to wage a brutal war against the countryside), it was also unable to exercise power without the participation of the exploited strata of the oppressed nations. Safarov, clearly referencing the Basmachi movement, insists that attempting to exercise proletarian power over the oppressed nations, without taking into consideration their particular conditions and tasks, “can obtain but a single result: to unite the exploited masses with their exploiters in a common struggle for the freedom of national development” — that is, a struggle against the Soviet Republic. This applies not only to the Soviet Republic internally, but also to the international revolution. Even Soviet economic policy is mirrored in Safarov’s vision for the global socialist economy: the peasant soviet republics of the once-oppressed nations, he says, will trade raw materials to the proletarian soviet socialist republics in exchange for manufactured goods and technical expertise, just as the New Economic Policy was founded upon equal exchange between the workers and the peasants. Safarov claims that this will allow the peasant soviet republics to develop at their own pace, so that they can “prepare for communism.”

The tendencies that Safarov identifies constitute an early version of a thesis later elaborated upon by postcolonial revolutionaries and scholars, such as Frantz Fanon. The thesis rejects both stageism—the idea that the bourgeois and proletarian revolutions are and must be entirely distinct events—and the notion that proletarian revolution must be directly transplanted to the colonies by the advanced proletariat of the imperial core, to the exclusion of a native, national-democratic revolution. These two stages of revolution—national and socialist—are not identical, but neither can they be isolated from each other.

We thus present these works as not only a part of the Bolsheviks’ debate on the national question, but also as a study on the dynamics of national oppression and revolution. We contend that these articles are not only a historical curiosity, but can provide insight into questions of imperialism, uneven economic development, and national oppression even today, along with the larger body of scientific study on the national question.


Bolshevik poster in Russian and Uzbek text, 1920, reads: “life of the eastern masses of the Soviet Union”

The Evolution of the National Question

Translated from “L’Évolution de la question nationale,” Bulletin communiste 2, no. 4 (January 27, 1921).

I

The experience of the revolution has not been sufficiently instructive with regard to the national question. At the beginning of the October Revolution this question had not been posed as concretely, nor with such tangible importance and keenness as today. In the first year of soviet power, the right of oppressed peoples to self-determination manifested itself above all as the liquidation of the colonial heritage of the old Russian Empire. Tsarist Russia oppressed and enslaved the “allogenous peoples” (inorodtsy). Soviet power gave them national equality, up to and including the right to create an independent state. The needs of the struggle against internal counterrevolution made this question a problem of prime urgency. Thanks to the concentration of the proletariat in the big cities and the industrial regions of Central Russia, to the favourable strategic position inhabited by this proletariat over the course of Russian history, the seizure of power could not have been easier. But these same circumstances determined in advance the historic path of the Russian counterrevolution, bourgeois and aristocratic, a path travelling from the outer provinces towards the centre. All the preceding history of Russia had been the history of Russian colonisation, and this fact distinguished itself from the moment of the proletariat’s seizure of power: it brought us face to face with the necessity of overcoming the existing antagonism between the Russian proletarian centre and the outer provinces, which are neither Russian nor proletarian; between the Russian city and the non-Russian country. The key to victory was in the resolution of the national question. But obtaining this resolution has not been easy. It has been necessary, firstly, to educate the Russian proletarian masses, infected—at least among their backwards sections—by an unconscious nationalism that makes them see the Russian cities as the focal point of the revolution, and the non-Russian villages as the focal point of the petite bourgeoisie; this leads them to apply the same methods of attack against these villages as are employed against capital. It has been necessary on the other hand to overcome the age-old distrust of the non-Russian villages towards the Russian cities and factories. The cities and the factories were developed and fortified on the immense expanses of the peasant world, as centres of Russian colonisation. The Bashkir knows this all too well, as the factories in the south Urals took away all their wealth and land; the nomadic Kirghiz knows it all too well, and looks askance at the Orenburg, Kazalinsk, Petrovsk, and Tashkent railways, which have always been nests of the scorpions called “police”; the poor Ukrainian peasant, too, knows it all too well. The assault against capital, advancing beyond the outskirts of the city, encounters an environment where the classes were not distinguished. It comes up against an impassable wall of national distrust. The primary attitude of the oppressed, non-Russian countryside was above all the desire for the Russian cities to finally cease commanding them, and to let the oppressed nations freely pursue their proper path towards national development. The poor sections of the oppressed nations considered soviet power to be a force hostile to their national character. The well-off sections and the nationalists of the intellectual stratum, having become the direct object of requisitions and confiscations, as well as of the struggle against counterrevolution, speculation, and sabotage, saw soviet power as a direct menace to their class domination or to their privileges as intellectual workers. This state of mind naturally facilitated, in a large way, the projects of the Russian counterrevolution. Crushed in the first declared encounter, they naturally seized upon the principles of separation, decentralisation, and independence. Kolchak, “Supreme Leader of the Russian Forces,” and Denikin, leader of “Russia One and Indivisible,” are figures of the second period of the Russian counterrevolution. Before selling their beloved “Fatherland” on the global market, where the demand was not yet enough, the counterrevolution first engaged in business among themselves, in the outer provinces of the old Russian Empire.

The experience of the civil war taught the labouring masses of the oppressed nations that the Ukrainian Rada led to Hetman Skoropadskyi and the German general Eichhorn, which wasn’t far from Kolchak’s Alash Orda or the Musavatist government of the English oil barons. The masses of Russian proletarians inhabiting the frontiers understood, too, that without the middle peasant it was impossible to hold firm against the aristocrats and the generals, that without the allogenous peoples it was impossible to create global proletarian power. The immediate collision of Soviet Russia with international imperialism compelled the oppressed nations to stand with the Russian proletariat against imperialist dictatorship, since the latter excluded all possibility of democracy and national liberty. The civil war was terrible, but it made the peoples of Russia pass through entire eras of history. Over the course of the civil war the possessing classes of the oppressed nations demonstrated to even the most backwards their internal, profound impotence in maintaining their positions of national independence in the struggle between capital and the soviets.

The conclusion of this experience has been clear and indubitable: all the bourgeois-national movements, led by the ruling class, have a natural tendency to adapt to imperialism, to enter into the imperialist system of the great powers, the buffer states, and the colonies. The natural tendency, unconscious from the first, of all national-revolutionary movements, is, by contrast, to draw on the revolutionary governing organisation of the proletariat of the more advanced countries, in order to obtain, by this course, their freedom to develop their nation in the global socialist economic system presently being constructed. The structure of the Federation of Soviets of Russia, the decisions of the Congress of the Peoples of the East, the existing alliance with the eastern revolutionary movements with the European revolutionary proletariat, are proof of this.

Three years of soviet power have presented the national question on a global scale, as a question of class struggle.

II

We can thus say that soviet power is the algebraic formula of revolution. The Second Congress of the Communist International recognised this, in concluding that the backwards peoples, with the aid of the proletariat of the more advanced countries, and by means of the formation of soviets, can jump over the capitalist stage to immediately prepare for communism. This is not a rationale understood by the “socialist colonisers,” who proclaim all national features to be counterrevolutionary prejudices, and who recognise nothing other than the national prejudices of the dominant nations. Our Russian colonisers in no way differentiate themselves from the bourgeois socialists of the Yellow International. To combat them is to combat bourgeois—however radical it appears—influence on the proletariat. If we transplant the communist revolution, unaltered, to the backwards countries, we can obtain but a single result: to unite the exploited masses with their exploiters in a common struggle for the freedom of national development. In these countries all the nationalisations and socialisations have about as much a basis as the nationalisation of the small peasant’s minuscule exploitation, or that of the cobblers’ awls. But the soviets are the class organisational form which permits the smooth advancement to communism, starting from the lowest stages of historical development. The semi-proletarian Kirghiz, the poor Bashkir, the Armenian peasant, each has wealthy classes in their country. These wealthy strata take away the former’s right to freely dispose of their labour, they enslave them as agrarian serfs, they divest them of the products of their labour, which they appropriate as a usurer’s profit; they keep them in ignorance; they maintain for themselves a sort of monopoly on the national culture, supported by the Mullahs, the Ishans, and the Ulamas. For the labourers of the backwards countries, bourgeois democracy can represent nothing other than a reinforcement of traditional domination, half-feudal, half-bourgeois. The brief experience of the “Kokand Autonomy”—which had more partisans among the Russian police than among the poor Muslims—, the experience of Alash Orda, the experience of Musavatist rule in Azerbaijan and Dashnak rule in Armenia, the recent experience of the pseudo-nationalist government of the Tehran merchants, taught in the imperialist countries of Europe, can all testify to this in perfect clarity. Six years of turmoil, 1914 to 1920, have brought hardship to the labourers of the backwards countries. The Kirghiz who were mobilised in 1916 to dig trenches have even now not been able to recover their lands, once given by the tsar to the rich peasants of Russia. The name “Kolchak” is well-known to the old allogenous peoples. The economic crisis, the absence of flour and cloth, has significantly exacerbated the subjugation of the poor class among the Kirghiz, in Bashkiria, in Turkestan, etc.… The lack of land, far from being resolved, has done nothing but grow, as the shortage grows, and as the nomads are forced to become sedentary. In the countries of the East, placed between life and death by the yoke of English imperialism, the crisis clears the market of European products, but at the same time it augments the appetites of the Western generals, the adventurers and the national usurers. The only remedy to all these afflictions is the labourers’ soviets, which by grouping the exploited together must end class inequality, give the land to the poor, free the artisan from the usurious intermediaries, liberate the toilers from drudgery and taxes, begin the education of the masses and the radical betterment of their conditions of existence, all at the public expense. This entire programme has not a single communist element. It is only after its realisation that the preparation for communism can begin among the backwards peoples. Here, as everywhere, we must terminate that which has not terminated — which has been incapable of terminating — capitalism. The communist revolution, throughout its entire course, must struggle against the exploiters of all historic periods and all types. The soviets are the revolution’s primary weapon, the universal form of this struggle.

III

Soviet power has become the form by which the right of the oppressed peoples to self-determination manifests. The soviet organisation of the oppressed peoples, from the national point of view as from the political point of view, sets itself against a slew of practical barriers, arising from class inequality and from traditional injustices.

There are enormous spaces, populated by the nations formerly oppressed by tsarism, a great distance away from the railroads. A characteristic example: the Semirechye line, impossible to construct, although the remoteness of this region with respect to Turkestan proper permits the large Russian peasants to maintain an autonomous existence. The nomads fear the city, because they see it as an erstwhile nest of police.

There are no Muslim printed letters, because printing was the privilege of the dominant nation.

There is no one literate in the native language; in Turkestan the cantons are forced to lend secretaries between each other for their executive committees.

There are no specialists for intellectual labour, and intellectuals count only in the dozens. There is no one who can teach others to read and write. This summer in Turkestan we trained a thousand Muslim schoolmasters, but even in just the already-existing schools, we are still missing about 1500.

As regards Russian specialists, we can employ them in the colonial provinces only with the utmost precaution, as they were all more or less agents of the colonial yoke—the colonial plunder. Their distinctly Russian sabotage, which they decorate with bureaucratic scruples and references to decrees, carries a criminally systematic character.

Finally, white-Russian “internationalism” has not yet been completely uprooted in the Communist Party.

The application of all these measures comes up against obstacles: the absence of primers, of scholars, of native specialists, etc.

The Communist Party must clearly understand these facts. It must declare that the soviet autonomy of the oppressed nations is an urgent task for the Communist Party and for soviet power. We must concentrate the attention of the labouring masses, of the proletarian vanguard, and of the entire soviet and communist apparatus on this problem, as we have done in the past in regard to the middle peasant. The liberation of the East, where there is more national and class slavery than anywhere else, is today the centrepiece of our international policy — the international policy of the socialist proletariat. It is there that we will practically address the problem of organising the International Republic of Soviets and the global socialist economy. In three years of soviet power, the national question has undergone many changes. Declarative formulas have passed into the practical organisation of nations. From the military struggle with the national counterrevolution, we have passed to soviet autonomy. From the struggle with the internal counterrevolution we have passed to global policy. The conclusions that present themselves must be taken up by the Commissariats of Agriculture and of Procurement, the Supreme Council of the National Economy, and all the other relevant organs, so that an excessive zeal to execute our labour mobilisations, our taxes-in-kind, etc., will not generate a so-called “counterrevolution.” Our entire party must be mobilised morally to the service of the national liberation of the oppressed. 


Soviet poster from Baku, 1920, text in Azeri, reads: “Through their strong union, workers and peasants destroy oppressors.”

The East and Revolution

Translated from “L’Orient et la Révolution,” Bulletin communiste 2, no. 17 (April 28, 1921). Originally appeared in German in Die kommunistische Internationale, no. 15 (December 1920).

The Second Congress of the Communist International recognised that “the masses of the backwards countries, led by the conscious proletariat of the developed capitalist countries, will arrive at communism without passing through the different stages of capitalist development.” We came to recognise this principle through the experience of the national soviet republics in the territory of the former Russian Empire, and through the revolutionary awakening of the colonial peoples and the oppressed nationalities of the East: India, China, Persia, Turkey, etc.… These peoples were cut off from the course of their historical development by European imperialism. They found themselves excluded from the technical revolution, from the rupture with the old social forms, and from the progress of civilisation. European capitalism did not at all revolutionise the mode of production in these countries. It did nothing but erect its own superstructure—in the form of an imperialist bureaucracy, of a commercial agency of European capital and a European “importation” industry—upon the feudal-patriarchal regime which had constituted itself over the course of centuries. It reinforced the exploitation of the agrarian population, by seizing the best lands, the sources of materials and fuel, but did not eliminate the old, reactionary feudal forms of exploitation. Where it could, for example in the Indies, it destroyed the local industry of petty artisans, by saturating the native markets with items manufactured in Europe, outcompeting the locally-manufactured items. Labour, rendered unoccupied by the elimination of petty production, became employed in agriculture. The establishment of industrial hegemony, and the military and political dictatorship of European capital in the colonies, led the great majority of the native population to become “attached to the land” so to speak, and inevitably also to emigration of the surplus population to the industrial centres (such as the exodus of Persians, reduced to finding work in Baku), and the horrific mortalities that periodically desolate certain countries in times of scarcity (India).

The Role of European Capitalism

Therefore, European capitalism has retarded the economic development of the colonies, just as much as it has the development of culture; it has artificially maintained the old social forms and the old reactionary ideology. Certainly, it could not have manifested otherwise in this part of the world and, all things considered, it has fulfilled its role as unconscious revolutionary agent. Friedrich Engels himself recognised this “civilising mission,” even as it concerns former tsarist Russia. In a letter to Karl Marx on May 23, 1851, he wrote, “Russian rule, despite its wickedness, despite its Slavic dirtiness, has a civilising influence on the Black and Caspian Seas and on Central Asia, on the Bashkirs and Tatars.” But here he misses the point. Capitalism of “importation” has the particularity that, in the colonies, it does not in practice follow the same method as in Europe and America. It does not develop the land for capitalist production. The colonialists burn the land to clear it for agriculture, they grow all sorts of grains until the ground is rendered completely barren, and then they abandon it for new lands. It is intensive cropping in all its rapacious brutality. The ruined artisan is not transformed into the industrial proletarian, but is rather transported by force to the countryside, where he has to work as a half-serf day labourer, and becomes literally the rich landlord’s or director’s workhorse, a slave to European exploitation. The nomad who lost his herd meets the same fate. The autonomous petty producer, who does not go to sell his labour on a capitalist farm, is reduced to misery, and becomes the insolvent debtor to the local usurer and to the European commissioner. At the same time that it destroys the native small industry and ruins the agrarian economy, European capitalism reserves all the offices, all the honours and all the important posts to the bearers of “high culture”, to Europeans.

The European is engineer, overseer, commissioner, administrator; the native, labourer and farmer. Just as in capitalist society, the development of the productive forces is accomplished through the intensification of the dominion of capital over labour, in the colonies this development has augmented the class antagonisms between the dominating nation and the oppressed nation. European capitalism barely disturbed the native elites, nor the exploiters of the peoples it oppresses. The big landlords, the merchants, the native usurers, the clergy, and even the police are left at their posts, legitimised by habit, by religion and by history. Only, above them, new figures appeared; the representatives of the imperialist bureaucracy and European capital, the Christian missionaries and the commercial agents. To the feudal exploitation of the peasant by the big landlord, the usurer, and the despotic state was added the oppression of the whole nation by foreign capital. In addition, the European yoke, far from destroying the backwards civil and familial customs, the traditional ancestral ideology, did nothing but consolidate them, by making them dear to the oppressed masses, who see in them a form of conserving their national culture, as well as a weapon in their struggle for political autonomy and their own culture, against the violent assimilation by European capital. This is what explains the strength of pan-Slavism, pan-Mongolism, pan-Asianism (“Asia for Asians!”), and other analogous movements that tend to consolidate the position of the possessing classes in the oppressed nationalities.

“The desire to safeguard the old, backwards forms of production from the invasion of capitalism: this is the economic base that has realised, without difficulty, the unification of the immense masses dispersed across the continents of Asia, Africa, and Europe.”1 Pan-Islamism as well as other, analogous movements are prominent examples.

European capitalism has not yet had the time to dissolve in the industrial furnace the population of the colonies and the half-enslaved peoples of the East, which the communist revolution and the European proletariat will break open. This is the fatal consequence of this imbalance in the development of different parts of the global economy, an imbalance that constitutes the very essence of the capitalist mode of production. Capitalism has dug an abyss between developed industry and the backwards rural economy. Capitalism has created a contradiction between the production of articles of consumption and the production of the means of production themselves. It has created a collision between the industrial progress of Europe and the backwards economic state of the colonies. It is exactly the transformation of industrial capitalism into imperialism that has caused the world war.

During the imperialist war, many colonial peoples were forced to provide military contingents and working-class armies for the war in Europe. The imperialist war brought the national question to the forefront, on a world-historic and world economic scale. Relying on Turkey, German imperialism attempted to draw into its camp the peoples of the East. The Entente’s imperialism, by virtue of its international situation, naturally had to speculate instead on its relationship with the Latin and Slavic peoples of Europe.

The Military and Political Dictatorship of Conquest

The imperialist war stripped away from the colonies all the “advantages” of their connection with European capital—commodities, the technical and capital means of the Europeans—and at the same time added cannon-fodder and a multitude of raw materials to the usual colonial tribute. The political yoke was equally strengthened. The result of the war was, on the one hand, the spoils of Versailles, and on the other hand the proletarian revolution in Russia and the revolutionary crisis in Europe. Thus, the march of the revolution in the East was predetermined. The war inhibited the base, the foundation of the capitalist mode of production, not only for the national economy of each country in particular, but for the entire global economy. In Europe, the industrious and enterprising capitalist of peacetime—who, hiring labour everywhere and constantly searching for new available capital, would constantly flood the market with streams of commodities—has been replaced with the speculator, declared enemy of large consumption, conscious protagonist of the continual reduction of social production; likewise, in the East, the European travelling salesman, the “peaceful conqueror” has been replaced with the true conqueror, the peacemaker with gold epaulettes, clad in menacing armour made in the European military style, and equipped with a “mandate” for an indeterminate number of colonial slaves and for limitless territory. In Europe, civil war has created an economic necessity for military dictatorship. The awakening of the oppressed peoples of Asia to the struggle for their national existence has equally created an economic necessity of the strengthening of capital’s doctrine of conquest in the East. The military dictatorship in Europe, and the doctrine of conquest in Asia, have been the only means for capitalism to enlarge its base of production, amidst the global disorganisation and the general revolutionary crisis. Looting one to make gifts for the other, making gifts to this one to loot a third, and so on, without end: this is the real essence of the politics of international imperialism, obligated to zig-zag before the proletarian revolution in Europe and the colonial revolution in Asia.

From this peril emerges the community of interests and solidarity in the struggle. The alliance with the European communist proletariat has emerged as an urgent historical necessity for the peoples of the East. The grand course of world history has seen the collision of capitalism with its direct successors—the revolutionary proletarians—and with its bastards—the oppressed peoples. Capitalism has divided humanity into dominant and oppressed nations. The revolution has brought about the union of the workers of the dominant nations with the majority of labourers in the oppressed nations.

It is through the proletarian revolution in Russia that the global revolutionary crisis has begun. The victory of the proletariat in the empire of the tsars, this “prison house of nations,” has given this alliance a concrete manifestation. The Russian revolutionary A. I. Herzen wrote, “The Europeans consider Russia to be Asia; the Asians, for their part, consider Russia to be Europe.” This was the situation of tsarist Russia. In Europe, it fulfilled the role of the international gendarme; in Asia, it conducted the power politics of European bandits. As strange as it may seem, this ancient formula, if turned on its head, characterises the present situation. To the eyes of Europe, the bankers and the big proprietors, the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic appears as the propagator of a terrible infection called “Asiatic bolshevism.” In the East, Russia finds itself as the bearer of the ideas of European communist revolution. It is in this phenomenon that we find the revolutionary importance of our geographic position between the East and the West. The Russian proletariat, the vanguard, had to practically resolve the accession of the masses of petty producers to the communist revolution; it had to resolve the question of the transformation of national movements from national-democratic into socialist-revolutionary…. The past march of historical development will sweep them to victory. Concentrated in the great halls of large industry, able to animate immense spaces, the proletariat, from the first, finds itself in a strategic position more advantageous than that of its enemies; the counterrevolution had to take the offensive from the outer reaches of the country, where it has attempted to draw upon the possessing and exploiting strata, upon the nations once oppressed by tsarism. In effect, all the prior history of Russia has been the “history of colonisation”!2

One of the first acts of the proletarian government was to enact “the declaration of the rights of the peoples of Russia” (2 November 1917), in which it recognised the right of self-determination, up to and including the right of separation from Russia—the right to form a distinct national state—for all the peoples of the old tsarist empire. Be that as it may, to manifest the right to national autonomy in the soviet form, it is necessary above all to overcome the historical contradiction between the Russian city and the non-Russian village, deprived of all national rights. It is necessary to win the confidence of the toiling masses of the oppressed nations, by eliminating the unconscious nationalism with which the backward elements of the Russian working masses are imbued; and by clearly demonstrating to the oppressed masses the true nature of soviet power, the power of the toilers. In truth, this task coincides with another: that of winning the masses of petty producers, the middle peasants of Central Russia to soviet rule; and it is this that will enable the solution. The counterrevolution will help to unmask bourgeois democracy before the eyes of the middle peasant, who sees, hiding behind the grand rhetoric of revolutionary socialism, a new landlord. The counterrevolution will contribute to eliminating the illusions of the labourers of tsarist-oppressed nations in national-bourgeois democracy. In effect, during the civil war, the counterrevolutionary nationalists have swerved to march openly behind the bellicose nationalist intellectuals, who present themselves as the old Russian police, as flag-waving Russian patriots, as European imperialists. Kolchak, Denikin, Mannerheim, Skoropadskyi, and the Allied and German generals have thus unmasked the Kirghiz “Alash Orda,” Petliura’s Ukrainian partisans, and many others.

The Separation of Classes

We can say without exaggeration that the separation between the classes of the oppressed nations has occurred only over the course of the civil war. It is through direct struggle, as class interests collide, that the masses have acquired revolutionary experience; and because of this revolutionary experience, they have moved on to new forms of social organisation. The Kirghiz steppes gave birth to “Alash Orda,” declared partisan of the Constituent Assembly in Samara which brought about the rise of Kolchak; and it was under Kolchak’s boot that the labouring Kirghiz masses consciously rallied to soviet power. Bashkiria underwent the same experience. Ukraine had to pass through an even longer series of successive stages: in the first place, the struggle between the Rada and soviet power put pressure on the new workers; next, the German general Eichhorn, in league with the ataman Pavlo Skoropadskyi; after them, Petliura and the French generals took their turn; then, the brief establishment of soviet power, overthrown by the unrest of the rural magnates and Petliura’s partisans; after that, the representative of a Russia “one and indivisible,” Denikin; and lastly, through the inevitable logic of the events, Ukrainian soviet power. Vynnychenko’s metamorphosis from leader of the bourgeois Rada to the vice-president of the Council of People’s Commissars of the Ukrainian Soviet Republic is the most telling of all these displays.

It is over the course of the civil war between the dictatorship of the proletariat and imperialism that soviet power has become the form of national autonomy and of class differentiation among the toiling masses of the oppressed nations. On the territory of the old Russian Empire, the alliance of the oppressed peoples with the revolutionary proletariat has taken shape in the form of the socialist federation of national soviet republics. The soviet revolution among the peoples of the East, who once formed an integral part of the Russian Empire, has bridged the gulf between the communist West and the revolutionary East.

The Russian proletariat knew to take advantage of their special situation, to simultaneously challenge the imperialism of millions of communists—of the European proletariat—and the threatening wall that is the revolting toilers in the East. Comrade Lenin well noted the international significance of various essential traits of our revolution, when he spoke of “the inevitable historical repetition, on the international scale, of what has occurred here.”3 Soviet power, that is the state form of the labouring masses, has been victoriously tested in practice in the revolutionary industrial city of Petrograd, as well as in the Russian hamlet of the Vyatka Gubernia; among the Tatar peasants dwelling on the Volga, as in the Ukrainian villages; in the East so strongly attached to its national customs, in the East where patriarchy reigns and where blood ties are still so important to everyday life, in the lands of the Kirghiz, in Bashkiria, in Turkestan and Azerbaijan. Everywhere, soviet power has demonstrated its strength. Karl Marx already noted this peculiarity of proletarian government in his critique of Paris Commune. “The multiplicity of interpretations to which the Commune has been subjected, and the multiplicity of interests which construed it in their favour, show that it was a thoroughly expansive political form, while all the previous forms of government had been emphatically repressive. It was essentially a working-class government, the product of the struggle of the producing against the appropriating class, the political form at last discovered under which to work out the economic emancipation of labour.”4

The revolution accelerates the progress of events to the highest point. It accentuates class contradictions to the extreme, even in the most backwards areas. The long, historic learning process makes way for a learning process governed by the revolutionary method. Peoples and social classes develop, over the course of a few months, more than over dozens of years of normal development.

Soviet propaganda poster from 1921 targeting Muslim women, reads “Now I too am free.”

Oppressors and Oppressed

The world revolution against imperialism places the oppressors and the oppressed on the same level.

The transformation of bourgeois-national movements into social-revolutionary movements has its origins in the conflict of class interests—conflict that manifests with a particular acuity among nations engaged in the struggle for independence, and which can equally be provoked by an external influence: that of the international situation. The elimination of bourgeois domination in the advanced nations necessarily pulls the more backwards nations along the road of the soviet revolution. The counterrevolution then involves itself as an aggressor.

The dictatorship of imperialism unmasks bourgeois nationalism in the West as well as in the East. The dominant strata of the oppressed nations endeavour immediately to seize control of the state machinery and their class victims. For them, the national revolution is the expansion of the national foundation of exploitation. This expansion consists in the manufacturer, the merchant, and the large landlord expelling the foreign interlopers and creating their own state apparatus of class oppression. On the other hand, at the same time, “a class of intellectuals develops and their own written language transforms into a necessity of the national culture, even if in substance this culture had to be very international. And if a nation feels the need for a national intelligentsia, this class, in turn, feels the need for a great, intellectually developed nation.”5

The national bourgeoisie and the bourgeois intellectual class want to have their market, their stock exchange, their bureaucracy, their officer corps, their writers and journalists, their ministers, their representatives, their teachers and their musicians. At the start, their national need finds its expression in bourgeois development. But this need, in the global economic disorganisation and revolutionary crisis, inevitably falls into class contradictions in a nation that has won its national independence. Democracy, in the name of the national interest, transforms into a national bourgeois dictatorship. Finland, a country with ancient democratic traditions, is a poignant example. “It seemed to us,” writes Comrade Kuusinen, on the beginning of the revolution in Finland, “that parliamentary democracy opened a wide and straight path for our workers’ movement, leading right to our aim. Our bourgeoisie had neither army nor police; what’s more, it didn’t even have the possibility of organising them legally, as to do so they would need the assent of the socialist majority in parliament.”6 And nevertheless, the bourgeoisie organised its white guard and defeated the Finnish working class with the aid of the German imperialists.

Bourgeois democracy is now unable to ensure national peace in the countries that have become independent and which contain national minorities. This is the practical experience of Ukraine: “Petit-bourgeois democracy cannot maintain its power in Ukraine, as the internecine struggle fractures it into hostile parties.”7 The intelligentsia and the bourgeoisie, in a nation that frees itself, profess an aggressive bourgeois nationalism, and this leads them to betray the cause of national liberation, to pass into the camp of the imperialists, from which they buy their bourgeois domination at the price of national freedom. The examples are legion: Latvia, Ukraine, Finland, Poland, Estonia, Czechoslovakia, Georgia, the Musavat government in Azerbaijan, Greece, “the Israelite state of Palestine,” the pseudo-national state of Persia which, in fear of its soviet revolution, has thrown itself into the arms of the British, etc. The aggressive nationalism of the oppressed nations’ bourgeoisie and large landlords makes their countries into buffer states of the imperialist powers against the revolution. As a result, social conflict—class antagonism—manifests first of all in the domain of the national interest: the labouring masses reclaim their national independence from the yoke of the imperialists; the exploiting strata cling to their class privileges and, because the foreign yoke was, up until that moment, a powerful means of conserving the most reactionary forms of exploitation—in the east, feudal and patriarchal customs—, the revolutionary awakening of the labouring masses transports the revolution from the national terrain to that of social relations. The national question is raised as one of class inequality. The reason is perfectly clear: if industrial capital and the intelligentsia are, in the early stages, the protagonists of national liberation, the big landlords and the native bureaucracy are the declared partisans of European assimilation. The national revolution, waged against the foreign invaders and the native big landlords, therefore pushes the merchant class into the camp of imperialist puppets. Thus we reach this general conclusion: all the bourgeois-national movements led by the possessing strata—by the exploiting strata—have an objective tendency to adapt to imperialism, to enter into the imperialist system of the “great powers,” to transform into “buffer states” and colonies. At the outset, the strictly historic, unconscious tendency of all national-revolutionary movements of the labouring masses, in the colonies and in the half-enslaved countries, is to draw on a revolutionary state organisation, a class organisation borrowed from the proletariat of the advanced countries, to ensure the freedom of national development in the forming global socialist economy.

The advent of organs of autonomous revolutionary management—the anjoman of the first Persian Revolution, the experience of the eastern national soviet republics, the beginning of the revolutionary peasant movement in the East, the birth of communist movements in Persia, in Turkey, in China, and in the Indies—all this proves that the labouring masses of the East are marching towards the international federation of national soviet republics.

For the Grouping of Communist Elements

It was in understanding the above that the 2nd Congress of the Communist International decided to support national revolutionary movements in the colonies and in the backwards countries, but under the express condition that the truly communist elements of the future workers’ parties in these countries are grouped together and instructed in their special tasks, in the necessity that they combat the bourgeois-democratic movement in their own nations; the Communist International must enter into a temporary alliance with bourgeois democracy in the colonies and the backwards countries, nevertheless without ever fusing with it; and in conserving at all price the independence of the workers’ movement, even in its embryonic form. In the East, as in the West, the way to soviet power has been paved by the process of capitalist development itself. In the West, it was paved by the transformation of “peaceful” industrial capitalism, of imperialism and bourgeois democracy into military dictatorship; in the East, by the implantation of capitalism as a foreign organisation of class domination, as a superstructure over the native society. In India, as the Indian communist Comrade Roy noted, “we are seeing, for the first time in history, an entire people being economically exploited by a true state power.”8 But it is not thus only in India. Russian Turkestan, up until the revolution, was in the same situation. Still today, we see the same state of affairs in Persia, in China, in all the colonies. As for the governmental organisation of the native exploiters, this is relatively weak in the East, where it adopts a purely feudal character.

On the subject of Persia, Victor Bérard had this to say: “Persia is neither a state nor a nation. It is the strange combination of a feudal anarchy and a centralised taxation system, the unstable mix of nomadic tribes and barely settled farmers, Moluk-us-Sawaif, as the natives say, monarchical federation or, more precisely, royal flock of nations.”9

The oppressive and exploitative character of state power is evident here. The base of all social life is the small farmer, ferociously exploited by the feudal state, by the large landowner, and by commercial capital, the true usurer.

The fact that, in the East, state power—as much the native feudal power as the power of the “invaders,” the European imperialists—manifests above all as the immediate exploiter of the population in the economic domain, has an immense political importance: no political revolution is possible in this situation without an economic revolution. Experience confirms this. “Just like their Western counterparts, the exploiting plutocracies of the Near-Eastern countries make every effort to give their rule the appearance of popular rule. The introduction of parliamentarism in Turkey and in Persia, as well as the transformation of Georgia (under the leadership of the Mensheviks), Armenia (under the leadership of the Dashnaks), and Azerbaijan (under the leadership of the Musavatists) into democratic republics, took place under the slogan of ‘Liberty and Equality.’ Nevertheless, every one of these politicians was incapable of providing even the illusion of democracy. The masses of people drown in unbelievable misery, while the agents of foreign imperialism swim in opulence. The land remains in the hands of its old owners, the old fiscal system remains in place, bringing immeasurable harm to the labourers, and the state not only tolerates, but encourages usury.”10

The Form of the Revolution in the East

The “bourgeois-democratic” revolution, in the East, inevitably takes the form of a dynastic revolution: it expands the privileges of the exploiters, but does not alleviate the burden of exploitation for the oppressed one bit. Native feudalism does nothing but assume the cast-offs of “European democracy.”

The East is living history. In some places, we still find remnants of the primitive communitarian society (clan, patriarchy), where patriarchal and feudal customs are conserved in full force. The religion of the East is simultaneously social and political. It consecrates the existing civil and familial order. It is the direct support for social inequality. It plays about the same role as Catholicism in the Middle Ages. “From the point of view of the orthodox Muslim, the theocratic Muslim state is the community of believers, of which the earthly representative is the ‘sultan’ (sovereign, leader); he is no more than the representative of God on Earth, a representative with a mission to take care—in conformity with the exigencies of ‘sharia’ (religious law)—of the civil and religious affairs of the community entrusted to him by God. To accomplish this, he, the ‘amiliami’ (the collectors of the ‘zakat,’ a ritual tax), and other civil servants receive a modest compensation of forty kopeks per day. The ‘zakat,’ which is meant to be used to help the poor, orphans, and invalids; to wage war against the infidels; in short, to serve the needs of society and the state, has become, in the hands of the latest Muslim sovereigns, a personal revenue that they use as they please, without any control and in an absolutely illegal fashion; the troops and even the popular militia, created to war against the infidels, to propagate Islam by force of arms, and to protect the community from outside enemies, are transformed bit by bit into the sovereign’s bodyguards, used to oppress the people and serving exclusively the personal or dynastic interests of these sovereigns. The Muslim community has been transformed into rayat, into herds of docile, mute slaves.”11

The centuries-long domination of the total surplus-value of labour was necessarily an obstacle to the expansion of social production, and it hindered all technical and economic progress. The primitive hoe (ketmen) and plough (omach) are still practically the only agricultural tools of the Central Asian farmer. There, capital is naturally stalled in its development; it has not gone further than usury and the sale of produce at the bazaar.

Religious law (sharia) defines property rights thus: “Property (mulk) is all that man possesses, whether it be the thing itself or its fruits.” This definition is the loyal reflection of primitive forms of production: religion recognises the proprietor’s right to sell the things that belong to him, as well as its “fruits”; it recognises his right to dispose of the surplus product of his natural goods.

A multitude of peoples in the East have not completely reached agricultural life in their evolution (the Kirghiz, the Turkomans, the Arabs, the tribal peoples of northern India, the Kurds, etc.). Nevertheless, among these peoples the survival of the primitive communal society has, over time, become a source of exploitation of the poor majority by the rich clan leaders. For example, we will look at the Kirghiz of the steppes. “Possessors of an extensive economy, the rich Kirghiz has already completely renounced physical labour; he is no more than the manager, the administrator; those who do the work are the day-labourers. The number of these labourers varies on average from seven to nine by economy, but there are economies where twenty labourers are exploited, or even more. A curious phenomenon to observe in the economy of the rich Kirghiz is the union of traits characteristic of modern capitalism with those of primitive nomadic society… The clan, despite its evident decomposition, still remains the legitimate proprietor of a given territory in the Kirghiz consciousness. The rich Kirghiz, abiding by this boundlessness of the right to use the land, covets considerable advantages: he puts to pasture his numerous herds without obstacle on all the territory of his relatives. Even up to the present, he has nothing pushing him to close off his land from that of the mass of the Kirghiz people.”12

The Task at Hand

From the above, we can easily understand why the Congress of the Revolutionary Peoples of the East (Baku, September 1920) recognised that “the soviet system is the only one which truly gives the labouring masses the possibility of taking power from their natural enemies, the upper classes (large landowners, speculators, high functionaries, officers), and to determine their own fate. Only soviet power empowers the poor labourers to take and keep the land from the landowners. The amalgamation of the soviets in large federations, and their autonomy within the framework of these federations: this is the only means for the toilers of different countries, who once warred among each other in the East, to pursue a peaceful existence, to destroy the foreign and native oppressors’ power, and to defeat all attempts by these oppressors to restore the old state of things.” To the forceful organisation of petty production and exploitation from above, the revolution substitutes the autonomous revolutionary organisation of the petty producers—the half-workers—in the form of the workers’ soviets. “Eliminate the prime cause of all oppression and exploitation—the power of the invading foreign capitalists and native tyrants (sultans, shahs, khans, beys, with all their bureaucrats and parasites)—seize power and exercise it in all domains (administrative, economic, and financial); refuse to fulfil any obligations to the feudal landlords and overthrow their authority; eliminate all personal and economic dependence on the landlords; abolish the large estates, under whatever legal form they may take; take the land from the large landlords without compensation or indemnities, and share it among the peasants, the farmers and the day-labourers who cultivate it”13: this is the task at hand. The alliance between the peasant soviet republics of the East with the soviet socialist republics of the West: this is the path that communism must pursue, to take hold of the entire global economy.

The proletariat of the West will help the toilers of the East with their knowledge, their technical expertise, and their organisational forces. The peasant soviet republics will provide the socialist industry of the West with the raw materials and fuel that it needs. Such an international division of labour between the city and the village, on the basis of amicable collaboration, is necessitated by the logic of the struggle against global economic disorganisation—the evident manifestation of capitalism’s decomposition. It is solely by this division of labour that we can eliminate the dependence of the Eastern people’s economy on the guardianship of the European and American banks, trusts, and syndicates.

The path to salvation of European industry, which suffers from a lack of raw materials and fuel necessary for its development, is the socialist industrial colonisation of the East. The soviets are not a repressive regime against the national customs and traditions of the peoples of the East; they will not drag these peoples by force into the kingdom of liberty. On the contrary, they will make them find their own path towards communism, by the cooperation of petty producers, by the organisation of public works (irrigation systems), and the formation of state enterprises.

Considerations on the Basis of the Socio-Political, Economic and Cultural Development of the Turkic Peoples of Asia and Europe by Mirsaid Sultan Galiev

Translation and introduction by Örsan Şenalp and Asim Khairdean

The below is an attempt to provide an English translation of one of the key texts of the visionary militant Mirsaid Sultan Galiev, written between 1923 – 25 titled Some of our Considerations on the Basis of the Socio-political, Economic, and Cultural Development of the Turkish People of Asia and Europe. 1 We believe that Sultan Galiev’s work and writings are very relevant for today, in the contemporary world, in relation to the important debates about identity politics and the Left, decolonization, political Islam, the re-emergence of the extreme right-wing, Marxism, the Russian Revolution, Bolshevism and the new Eurasianism amongst other things. The presented text is one of the key sources in which Sultan Galiev summarizes the main tenets of his analysis on the current world situation in the given conjuncture (the aftermath of the 1917 Russian Bolshevik Revolution), where he lays down an original and alternative strategy for world revolution. With this we are also publishing two supporting documents from the political trial against him which had begun in 1923, re-opened in 1928 and remained open until the final verdict was made in 1939, sentencing Galiev to execution which took place on January 28, 1940. 

A decade in prison and exile divides the two supporting texts: The first document is Galiev’s testimony of December 18, 1928, and the second one is the official sentence which is dated December 8, 1939. Both of these have been translated from the Russian versions. We provide a translation of these documents in order to provide a little bit of historical and materialist context, for not only the text but the conditions of its writing and distribution and its subsequent disappearance and reemergence. 

The primary text was found in the early 90s in KGB archives Box. No. 4: Volume No. 2: List No. 1. 2 The text was published in Russian (in Tatarstan) for the first time in 1995, following the opening of the archives to the public, with the following reference and with an introduction written by I. Tagirov: “Nekotorye nashi soobrazheniia ob osnovakh sotsial’no-politicheskogo, ekonomicheskogo i kul’turnogo razvitiia Tyuretskikh narodov Azii i Evropy.” The second time the article was published in 1998, this time with the title “Tezisy ob ob osnovakh sotsial’no-politicheskogo, ekonomicheskogo i kul’turnogo razvitiia Tyuretskikh narodov Azii i Evropy” in Izbrannye Trudy, together with the two accompanying texts we present below. 3   

With this translation, we have tried to overcome certain problems that we encountered and we must outline them here. First of all, we had to take as the source material for our translation the Russian text which was published in the 90s. This text was arranged and kept in the archives of the Politburo / GPU and later KGB. It was difficult to determine whether the original text was written in the Tatar language by Sultan Galiev or not. If indeed the original text was in Tatar, then the translation must have been done by the GPU and if that is the case we would not know how much is possibly lost in translation from Tatar to the Russian language. The translation could have done before, during or after the trial, or even after the execution of Galiev. This would imply that the GPU could have modified the text. At any rate, it has several inconsistencies of style and apparent absences such as the abrupt ending and missing second part.

The political and historical context in which the original text was written and received by Soviet authorities and leaders, therefore, generates serious problems about the text too. This text, whose only surviving copy is that produced and kept by the GPU, was the main grounds for Sultan Galiev’s second arrest in 1928. This was under Stalin’s orders, on accusations of anti-party political activity, at the start of the first of the Stalinist purges from the Communist Party which notably Galiev survived for a further decade. During this time he was sent to exile for ten years and sentenced to death on December 8, 1939. The article was seen as the main evidence for the betrayal of Galiev and so it is worth noting some inconsistencies in the references to it by Galiev and by the GPU. For this reason, we have tried to retain the formatting as much as possible.

In his 1928 testimony, Sultan Galiev confesses that he wrote the text in 1923, and completed it in 1925, and although he planned it in two parts he claims that he then gave up on the entire idea, and so did not finish the article.4 However, we understand from his testimony and sentence that the activities he was accused of and he actually undertook were organizational activities in line with the vision already set forth. According to Galiev’s own introduction, the second part was supposed to be where he would outline the practical and organizational aspects of his political strategy, as well as the tactics about how to realize this strategy. Notably, it is the part in which the idea of a Colonial International is supposed to be expounded since this does not appear anywhere in the existing first part but does appear in both Galiev’s testimony and in the GPU’s sentence and was also picked up by Bennigsen. The GPU sentence in particular even mentions aspects of the organizational structure of the CI as outlined in the text which are conspicuously absent from the current version. Such denial as part of Galiev’s testimony might have been an act of survival under the conditions that the author found himself at the time. Obviously, the content could have been direct and sufficient evidence to get him executed immediately. However, in the lack of such evidence, it is the existing text and Galiev’s ongoing activities after 1928 that are presented as the rationale for his sentence and execution in 1939. Although Galiev denies the existence of the second part before his executors, there is a good reason to assume that the text might have been hidden or destroyed by the author, a third party close to him or other interested parties.

This leads to the next problem of the first ever reference to this key text being made in the literature by the curious figure of Alexandre Bennigsen 5, who has established fame as a ‘Cold Warrior’ having led an academic wing of the ‘nation building’ campaign under the coordination of Zbigniew Brzezinski and his right arm Paul Henze.6 This situation creates another enigma around Galiev and the present text. We do not know, for instance, how Bennigsen and his students could have managed to penetrate the KGB archives or learned about the context of the text before the archives were opened in the early 90s. It may well be that Bennigsen or his team had discovered the existence of the text as an outcome of the study of Crimean Tatars in Ottoman Archives, which was led by Bennigsen himself in the Topkapi Palace. 7 In any case, the first reference to the text by Bennigsen, to the archived material seems to be picked up and used as secondary references by others, including French Marxist historian Maxime Rodinson.8 And this reference has made Galiev’s article known to other scholars and researchers who refers to it. Bennigsen and Quelquejay thought of Sultan Galiev as the father of the Third Worldist revolutionism, for his alternative vision crystallized in the present translation about the establishment of a ‘Colonial International”, an “International of the Oppressed Peoples.” Besides this, the controversial notion of ‘Muslim National Communism’ was attributed to Galiev’s overall thought by Bennigsen for the first time and since then the notion was adopted by other authors writing about Galiev. 9 Although Bennigsen and his students have done their work in order to undermine the unity of the USSR within the Cold War framework, by using Galiev; their work has revealed the historical originality of the person of Galiev and his ideas. Galiev’s thinking and political struggle to realize his ideas, by building an alternative to the Comintern was inspired by his version of historical materialism. According to Galiev, he builds his analysis as a revision of Lenin’s theory of imperialism and Marx’s theory of capitalism. He claims to achieving this by using a methodology he claims is a more radical version of dialectical and historical materialism. Galiev renames his methodology as energetic materialism and asserts that such a method of thinking has its roots in the East before it was established by Marx and Engels in the West. Independent of Bennigsen’s objectives, what we see in the below text is Galiev’s is a highly original analysis, that can indeed be seen as a precursor of the work of Frantz Fanon, CLR James, Che Guevara, Andre Gunder Frank, Dependency and World-System theorists. Important to note that, some authors have argued that the original ideas referred to as Galievism are initially based on the thoughts developed by Mollanur Vahidov. Galiev himself confirms this, in his 1923 testimony, by mentioning Validov’s name as his mentor.10 As Bennigsen highlights in 1986, Galiev does not cite or give resource neither for his term energetic materialism nor for the predecessors of this thinking system in the East. It was Alexander Bogdanov however who in his earlier work on empiriomonism synthesized the energetism of Ernest March and William Ostwald with the materialism of Marx and Engels. Curiously, Bogdanov in his magnum opus Tektology also makes a similar claim to that of Galiev that “tektological thinking” has its roots in the Eastern philosophy. 11 Therefore one might assume that it was Bogdanov’s thought which was the source that Galiev did not cite here. Bogdanov’s arrest on similar charges of “counter-revolutionary” activities in September 1923, some months after Galiev’s first arrest in May 1923 might indicate a connection to be further researched.12 More recent work of Craig Brandista 13, and James D. White14 might provide direction for future research. 

In any case, all references to the archived text and its published versions in Russian in the English speaking world remained secondary, referring only to the work of Bennigsen. Strikingly, but also probably because of these problems mentioned above, no English translation has been made until now. There may be other reasons that explain the lack of motivation amongst historians for translating Sultan Galiev’s work into English or other European languages, such as Galiev not being as prolific a writer as Lenin, Stalin, Trotsky, Bukharin or other Bolshevik leaders and intelligentsia. After all, Izbrannıe Trudı contains only around 1000 pages of material, collected in one volume, and is mainly composed of official writings which were found in the Soviet archives and published in 1998. However, Galiev was undoubtedly a key political figure, the highest-ranking Muslim amongst the Bolshevik leaders, and one of the first high ranked leader who got arrested and accused with anti-party activities and expelled from the party (as early as 1923). He and his fellows and followers were accused of being ‘Galievists’, bearers of a certain line of thinking and practice. The line of thinking and action that was labeled as ‘Galevist’ was strategically linked to the issues related to the policies on colonies, nationalities, self-determination, approach to agrarian classes, to Islam, and thus to the confrontation with the Imperialism of the West in the East. Therefore the Galiev case was not only related to the spread of the world revolution, but also to the issues of Russian nationalism and practice of revolutionary democracy in the Soviet government itself.15 

The overall enigma of the Galiev case and the lack of English translations of at least his key texts motivated us to undertake such an initial effort and make the present translation, even though we cannot read nor write Russian. Of course, we are aware of the fact that this constitutes a problem for the reader with regard to the trustworthiness of the end result. We decided to proceed anyway and then look for solutions to minimize the effects of these problems as much as we could. Our starting point was the early Turkish translations of both the present item (also published in 1998) as well as Turkish translations of other works of Galiev, a selection made from Izbrannıe Trudı and published by Halit Kakınç.17 As one of co-translators of the article below, Örsan Şenalp was then a member of the editorial board of Ulusal and was acquainted with the text and its Turkish translation. Asim Khairdean worked on the English rough translations of the Russian and the Turkish texts. Finally, we compared and corrected the outcomes of two versions and applied this to the two annexed documents as well. Needless to say, ours are just initial translations. Of course, there is still the need for a professional translation by a native English speaker and Russian literate historian.   

Before we end, we would like to thank Fabian Tompsett, Zbigniew Marcin Kowalewsky, Matthieu Renault, John Biggart, Craig Brandist, Eric Blanc, and Sebastian Budgen for the suggestions and insight they provided.  

Mirsaid Sultan-Galiev and Narkomnats Commissars, 1923

Document I: From the testimony of M. Sultan-Galiyev to the investigator of December 18, 1928

The question is put squarely: am I ready to disarm ideologically and organizationally or not? I answer at the beginning, yes, I am ready. What is my armament and what should be my disarmament? My armament consisted of well-known ideas and thoughts, in a certain worldview about the development of the revolutionary movement in the colonies and the work of Soviet power and the Communist Party in the national republics and regions, mainly the Turkic ones, which grew gradually in the course of the development of the revolution in Russia, starting as early as 1917.

This outlook has its own dynamics, the history of its development, which was determined by the peculiar perception of certain moments in the development of the international revolution in general and of party and Soviet work in the national parliaments in particular. 

The basic principles of my outlook were laid out by me in my testimonies to the OGPU back in 1923 – when I was arrested on charges of trying to establish contact with Zaki Validov.18 I consider it necessary to repeat them now in brief. The formulation of my views was:

First: The crisis in the development of the world revolution, which forced the party to shrink into the framework of building socialism in one country, is the result of a “reassessment of the significance, on the part of the European Communists, of the role of the Western European proletariat in organizing the world socialist revolution, on the one hand, and in underestimating the significance of national liberation movements in the colonial countries in the system of international revolution, on the other.” 19

Secondly: The Party’s insufficiently firm policy on the national question before the Eleventh Party Congress, 20 in the sense of underestimating its national manifestations in the work in the national parliaments and, as a result, the growth of great-power tendencies, on the one hand, and the discontent of the nationals on this basis, on the other.

As you know, I then recognized as erroneous my attempt to establish contact with Zaki Validov, qualified it as a crime against the party of which I was a member, and declared my readiness to accept the deserved retribution from your hands.

I did not make a clear statement on my part about my renunciation of the assessment, of the course of the development of the revolution, that had developed in my mind. 

When I was released from prison, I, at least, had no clear answer: who, after all, is right on the main issues – I or the party. I remember only one thing: I had made a firm decision to put an end to all my past, in being released from prison and staying in one form or another in the party. I learned about my expulsion from the party, as you know, here at the OGPU, before my release, after you made a written commitment from me to refuse to conduct anti-Party and anti-Soviet work. The message about this had a depressing impression on me. Some hope appeared to me in the possibility of reinstating the rights of a member of the party after being visited by Stalin some time after my release from prison, when I was instructed that this question could be put in about a year. Somewhere in the depths of my soul, there was, in addition, a hope for Vladimir Ilyich. For some reason, it seemed to me that Ilyich would be interested in my business and restore me to the party. I looked forward to his recovery. His death killed this hope in me. Ilyich’s loss for me was, therefore, a double blow. I loved this man as God in my youth. If you searched me, you should find in my papers a small sheet, where I brought my impressions of the deceased, after returning from his funeral. The image I painted on this little piece of paper will forever remain in my soul.

My hope for a return to the party revived after my statement to the Central Control Commission in 1924. The promise of support for my request on the part of Mr. Stalin strengthened this hope in me. The Central Control Commission, as you know, denied me my request. It was the third fresh and heavy blow to me.

The moment of negotiation and consideration of my application to the Central Control Commission coincided with the moment of the withdrawal from Tatarstan of a group of Tatar communists – Mukhtarova, Enbaev, and Gasim Mansurov, comrades close to me through my joint work with them during the revolution. Also from the party, the local Party organization of the People’s Commissariat of the Tatarstan Republic – Yunus Validov and deputy head of the Sovnarkom Comrade Ishak Kazakov, an old revolutionary who worked among us from the days of October. It was also preceded by my open defamation, in the pages of the Tatar and Russian press and in separate pamphlets, as a counter-revolutionary. I learned about the qualification of my act, as objectively counter-revolutionary, on the part of the Second National Meeting under the Central Committee of the Party, a year later, after expelling me from the party, and before that it was not clear to me why such a furious attack was taking place on me as against a counter-revolutionary.

The counter-revolutionary label, glued to me, oppressed me even worse because in my heart I considered myself a Communist, a Leninist, a party member, a revolutionary. I am in all parts of my being protesting against it (in my notes you can find a letter to the Central Committee, which I thought to compose at the same time on this occasion, but for some reason struggled with and abandoned). I considered this a great injustice towards myself and experienced it as the greatest tragedy. To me, all the more, it was hard, that I already experienced a serious tragedy in your prison. After all, I’m not only a revolutionary, but also a person. I, as a revolutionary, signed a death sentence to myself. I considered this to be the greatest act of revolutionary honesty and courage on my part and found, in this, great moral satisfaction for myself. I think you understood that then. But as a man, as an animal organism, I still experienced a heavy sense of death. And under this heavy feeling, I was with you for 2 weeks, while my fate was being decided. You see for yourself – I’m only 36 years old, and almost all my head is gray. You will understand, therefore, that strange feeling of resentment, insult, and humiliation that I experienced, and experienced at moments when I was exposed as a counter-revolutionary. Especially in those cases when this came from the people with whom I once fought alongside, against the opponents of the October Revolution and the Soviet government.

Here is the psychological background on the basis of which I gradually matured the decision to create an independent party, based on the revision of Marxism and Leninism on colonial and national issues. This was also facilitated by the extremely difficult situation that was created around the so-called “right” Tatar and partly Bashkir communists.

The result of this was my initial sketch of a part of the theses on “some issues of economic and cultural development of the Turkic peoples of Europe and Asia.” In them, I wanted to justify the opposition to the communist slogan of national self-determination by the slogan of “the liberation of the colonies through the dictatorship of the colonies over the metropole.” Communism, according to my analysis and a new understanding, was pictured to me as a new and progressive form of European nationalism for the first time, meaning the policy of consolidation and unification of the material and cultural forces of the metropolitan countries under the aegis of the proletariat. In the future, I intended to expand these theses on the colonial question in general, based on the radical revision of the Leninist theory of imperialism and Stalin’s interpretation of it. I speak quite frankly, as I am, in front of you and before history, in the end, one person, but I have nothing to hide. If in your hands during a search I had a pamphlet by V.I. Lenin “Imperialism, as the newest stage of development of capitalism” with my notes on the margins and on the covers, then on them you will be able to form an approximate representation of my understanding of imperialism. According to my theory of imperialism, imperialism is inherent in capitalism in general, regardless of the stage of its development; it seemed to me that in this respect Ilyich nevertheless lacks clarity. From my formulation, therefore, there was a possibility in the theory and practice of the existence of socialist or communist imperialism, since at this stage of its development international capital (which must grow from a revolution into socialism) represents a system of colonial management.

I here ask you not to confuse my concept with the battered and rotten lampoon of Kautsky and the dirty lies of the imperialist bourgeoisie about the “red imperialism of the Soviets.” From my same theses, you will see that I am an irreconcilable enemy both of the world bourgeoisie and Menshevism.

The draft of my theses I first read to Yunus Validov. He insisted on making some amendments, especially with regard to the formulation of the content of the national liberation movement of individual colonial countries (including the Turkic-Tatar nationalities of Soyuzia) and questioned the correctness of the basic slogan of “colonial dictatorship over the metropole,” where we opposed ourselves to the Communist International. Validov then lived in my apartment. He was already expelled from the party. Above him was the threat of a public trial on charges of a criminal offense. We both suffered a great deal. Nevertheless, the discussion of the program for the future of the “International of the Colonial Peoples” was very intensive. Our main provisions were worked out by us, but they are not set out on paper. Tactics and strategy were defined. The social base of our future “Colonial International” party was determined by the workers, peasants and the petty bourgeoisie. Tactically, we stood for the use also of the progressive part of the large national bourgeoisie (the industrial bourgeoisie). It was decided after the trial of Validov, if he was not left in the party, to flee abroad and begin negotiations with underground or semi-legal colonial revolutionary organizations about the establishment of the Bureau of the International in one of the eastern countries. First of all, Validov was to contact Sun-Yat-Sen and then to transfer to India. I had to stay in the USSR and organize a small but strong nucleus here and also go abroad and contact the Fourth International and the anarchist organizations of Europe. Such was our decision before the trial of Validov. Validov in the court kept himself, in my opinion, revolutionary. You know that. The court, as is known, did not resolve in his favor … Nevertheless, we carried out our decision and were then detained ourselves. We once again thoroughly thought out the issue and decided to seek a review of the court’s decision before the Central Control Commission, and in case of a negative decision by him and in this instance, to appeal the decision of the Central Control Commission first to the party congress and then to the Comintern. The decision of Validov in this sense was unshakable. He believed in his own right. I supported him. Before deciding on the fate of Validov, we decided to stay in the USSR, regardless of whether you pursued us or not, whether it was possible for us to go abroad or not, that is, already having made a full break with you (as it should be understood), depending on the outcome of the resolution of the question of leaving him in the party. Severe illness and the subsequent death of Validov however, removed this issue from the order of the day.

The loss of Validov was a heavy blow to me. In him, I lost one of my most loyal friends and support. The son of a serf-peasant, he was a real rebellious and revolutionary slave.

The transcript of his speech at the trial was kept by me. It must have got to you. There on the first page, there should be a signature made by the hand of Validov himself. It spoke about the growth of the right, danger in the country and the need for an organized fight against it. Validov, before death, asked me to reproduce his speech and distribute it among the population. By this way, he wanted to rehabilitate himself after death. I, however, did not do this and kept his speech only as historical material. I did not want to endure our discord with the party in public.

After the death of Validov, I suspended the work on the preparation of the theses. It seemed to me that the planned course of our action was still wrong. In the program we are planning, there was no clarity, firstly, regarding the social entity of the organization we are creating, and secondly, regarding the definition of our attitude to communism as a system, as a principle. It was unclear what we should promise to the colonies liberated from the hegemony of metropolitan countries: communism, or capitalism, or something third “not bourgeois” and how to ensure the organizational triumph of communism as a system in general, if we accept it for the colonies. The question as to the stages in the development of the national liberation movement with regard to communism was also unclear: whether communism was established after the end of the national liberation, or whether its growth coincided with the development of the national liberation movement. And I’ve thought about this for a long time. In addition, I was sick with tuberculosis, which greatly exhausted me and I had to go to the Crimea.

Later, after returning from the Crimea, in the winter of 1925 I read extracts from my theses to Comrade Budayli from the Tatarstan Republic. He also gave readings to Mukhtarov and Enbaev, and even later, it seems in 1926, showed them to their comrade Deren-Ayerly. Reading the theses, I pointed out to my comrades that they represented only a draft outline of my views on the development of the revolutionary movement in the Turkic regions of Europe and Asia. Comrades, agreeing with the analysis of the Turkic world in the system of world economy and politics, resolutely argued against the first part of the theses, regarding the opposition of the colonial communists with Europeans and about the slogan “the dictatorship of the colonies over the metropole.”

I did not show my theses to anyone else. As you can see, the theses are not finished, but among the papers on separate sheets there are rough drafts of the formulations of the remaining parts of the theses, not only in the form of completed and ready-made thoughts but in the form of “possible productions.” In the process of their analysis, their antitheses could also arise.

I did not manage to finish them. I did not have too much time and there was no “Engels” at hand. This is the first point. Secondly, I still did not lose hope for my rehabilitation within the party. For some reason, it seemed to me that the Central Committee of the Party would finally consider my position. This hope grew especially strong in the period when you started talking about “changing the route of the revolution” in terms of a turn towards active participation in the national liberation movement of the colonies, specifically, the Chinese revolution. The result of this was my second letter to T. Stalin at the end of 1925 or the beginning of 1926 with the question of whether it is possible for me to raise the question of restoring my membership in the party and on what conditions. Moreover, even later, under the influence of the experience of the Chinese revolution and the development of the national liberation movement in India and other colonial countries, and also in the USSR itself, the question gradually arose in me as to whether I was really mistaken in the main, namely in determining the revolutionary significance of the theory and practice of Leninism in applying them to resolving the colonial question and hence in determining the revolutionary role of the CPSU(B) and the Comintern, that is, speaking simply, I do not break through an open door. 

Mugshot of Sultan-Galiev

Document II:  SENTENCE

THE UNION OF THE SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS THE MILITARY BOARD OF THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNION OF SSR, DECEMBER 8, 1939, CONSISTING OF:

Chairman – Brigouveneurist T. Alekseyeva

Members: Brigvoyenurist Sislina and Comrade Bukanova

As the secretary-lawyer T. Mazur, in a closed court session in the city of Moscow, December 8, 1939, examined the case on charges of – Sultangalieva Mirseida21 Haydar Galievich 1892, the birth of the Bashkir Assr, by nationality Tatar, servant, non-partisan, by the NKVD in 1928 (on June 28, 1930, Col. of the State Political University) a sentence of up to 10 years for criminal activities, is provided for by Articles 58-1a, 58-2 and 58-11 of the Criminal Code.

The preliminary and judicial investigation found that since 1919, Sultan-Galiev is the organizer and the actual leader of the anti-Soviet nationalist group which for many years has been actively fighting against Soviet power and the CPSU(B).

Throughout 1919-1920, Sultan-Galiev was in organizational connection with the well-known nationalists who were in exile: Ibragimov22, Abdurran and others, together with whom they agreed on organizing the struggle against Soviet power on the basis of pan-Turkism and pan-Islamism, with the aim of secession from Soviet Russia of the Turkic-Tatar regions and the establishment in them of a bourgeois-democratic Turanian state.

In 1923, Sultan-Galiev M. together with a certain Kara-Sacal, the foundations of a political program common to all the Turkic nationalities of the USSR and the colonial peoples of the foreign East were worked out, a cipher was developed, a password and nicknames were established.

In the period of 1925, Sultan-Galiev wrote a program of struggle under the heading “On the Basics of the Economic, Political and Cultural Development of the Turkic Peoples,” in which he put forward the idea of ​​creating a “colonial International,” with the organization of a special committee for the leadership of the Pan-Turkic movements of the Turkic peoples in the USSR, with branches on the ground, whose task was to organize the preparation of a branch off of the national Turkic republics and regions from the Soviet Union.

Since 1923 and for several years Sultan-Galiev had an organizational relationship with the Trotskyite-Zinoviev underground, contacting them with subversive work, against the CPSU(B) and the Soviet authorities.

In the period 1931-1933. Sultan-Galiev, even while in the Solovetsky camps, did not abandon his criminal activities with like-minded people – Enbaev, Bakiyev, and others –  negotiated the creation of the so-called “Turan Workers ‘and Peasants’ Socialist Party.”

In the same year of 1933, Sultan-Galiev undertook the assignment to establish a connection with the leader of the Tatar White emigration Gayaz Iskhakov.

Along with these criminal acts during the period from 1919 to 1928 and from 1934 to the date of his arrest Sultan-Galiev led a large recruitment drive to create anti-Soviet bourgeois-nationalist organizations and groups.

In addition, it was established that since 1922 Sultan-Galiev was connected with the diplomatic representatives of a foreign state who, for espionage purposes, informed about secret decisions of the Central Committee of the CPSU(B) on Eastern issues about secret decisions on the national question, and also gave his consent to the transfer of information about the armed forces of the USSR. He gave the representative of foreign intelligence in 1927 a verbatim report of the so-called “Ryskulov national meeting.”

Recognizing Sultan-Galiev as guilty of the crimes provided for in Articles 58-1a, 58-2 and 58-11 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR, the Military Collegium of the Supreme Court of the USSR, guided by Articles 319 and 320 of the Code of Criminal Procedure of the RSFSR has agreed:

Sultan-Galiyev Mirsaid Haydar Galiyich to be given the highest measure of criminal punishment – execution, with confiscation of all personal property belonging to him. The verdict is final and not subject to appeal.

A copy of the document was transferred from the Central Archive of the Federal Counterintelligence Service of the Russian Federation.

Second All-Russia Congress of Communist Organization of Orient Peoples in 1919

Document III: Some considerations on the basis of socio-political, economic and cultural development of the Turkic peoples of Asia and Europe23

Methodology  

Before we base the foundations on which we will establish the socio-political, economic, and cultural developments of the Turkic peoples of Asia and Europe in the epoch we are experiencing, we have to, at least briefly, dwell on the methodology of our views on the topic.   

To avoid any ambiguity and misunderstanding we must first point out that we approach this particular issue, as well as in general other issues, from the materialist worldview and philosophy. And from the various currents of this revolutionary philosophical school, we dwell on a more radical branch, so-called historical or dialectical materialism. We believe that this branch of materialistic philosophy is the most faithful and scientifically grounded system of cognition of individual phenomena in the social life of human society since with its help we can produce the most correct and accurate analysis of their causes and predict or anticipate their consequences.

But at the same time, let us state in advance that our belonging to this school – of dialectical, or rather, energetic materialism – should not be interpreted as a blind imitation of the Western European representatives of this school (i.e. the so-called Marxists or Communists), nor a blind copying of all that they think or produce. We do not do this for the following reasons:

    1. We believe that materialistic philosophy is not at all an exclusive “accessory” of Western European scientific thought, since this kind of philosophy, in one form or another, as well as a well-known system of thinking, has arisen in other non-European peoples (Persians, Arabs, Chinese, Turks, Mongol, etc.) long before the birth of modern European culture.
    2. Many of us, even before the last revolution in Russia, were imbued with an energetic materialist world outlook, and it was not artificial and grafted from the outside, but naturally arising from the essence of the conditions surrounding us: the most severe economic, political and cultural oppression of Russian nationalism and Russian statehood.
    3. Our adherence to the supporters of historical materialism does not at all oblige us to agree to and regard anything as “sacred”, indisputable and indestructible, as presented by contemporary Russian or even European monopolists of the idea of ​​dialectical materialism.

 You can declare yourself a thousand times a materialist, a Marxist, a Communist or, as is in fashion in Russia now, a Leninist, screaming about it to the whole world, with as much strength and opportunity as you have, and write hundreds and thousands of volumes on hundreds and thousands of topics on this subject, but at the same time not have the slightest dose of true materialism or communism, or a grain of genuine revolutionism in your judgments and conclusions, let alone actions. And we not only do not give any obligations to you but even in spite of all your expectations, we “dare” challenge you for the right to monopolize the idea of ​​dialectical materialism.

So, for example, we find that in the basic questions of the restructuring of the social life of mankind, which are, firstly, the national-colonial question, and secondly, the question of the methods of implementing communism, that is, the social system, where there will be no classes and there will be no exploitation of man by man, Russians, and behind them the West-European Communists at the present time make the grossest mistakes, the result of which may not be the salvation of mankind from the “oppression of anarchy and elements,” but his terrible ruin, impoverishment, and extinction. We agree with them (not always and not on all matters), when they criticize and plunder the rapacious European capitalism by predatory European imperialism; we agree with them when they speak of the reactionary nature of modern European capitalist culture and the need to fight it… but we nevertheless completely disagree with the recipes they have offered, as conclusions from their reasoning about all this. We believe that with the recipe proposing the replacement of the dictatorship over the world of one class of the European public (the bourgeoisie) by its antipode (proletariat), i.e. its other class, there will be no particularly great change in the social life of the oppressed nations of mankind. In any case, if any change occurs, it is not for the better, but for the worse. This will only be a replacement for a less powerful and less organized dictatorship (the centralized dictatorship of the forces united on a European scale) of the same capitalist Europe (including here and America) over the rest of the world. In contrast, we put forward a different proposition – the concept that the material prerequisites for the social reorganization of mankind can be created only by establishing the dictatorship of colonies and semi-colonies over the metropole. Only this way is capable of creating real guarantees for the liberation and emancipation of the productive forces of the globe, chained by Western imperialism.

Proceeding from this methodology, we establish a certain system of questions, the answer to which must give the most correct solution to our main task. We consider the issues through the following topics: 

What is the Turkic world in the present-day world economy and politics as a socio-productive organism?

What conditions are lacking (internal and external) for the normal economic, political and cultural development of the Turkic peoples (both in general and their individual branches)?

In what ways can these conditions be achieved, whether through evolutionary development or through revolutionary changes?

Specific methods of work in one direction or another:

a) strategy and tactics,

b) forms of organization.

The Turkic World in the system of the modern world economy and policy as a productive-social organism 

The question of the place and role of the modern Turkic world in the system of the current international economy and politics is, in our opinion, the main issue from which we can outline the correct solution of our main question about the fundamentals of the socio-political, economic and cultural development of the Turkic peoples of Asia and Europe.

Not knowing exactly what we are, inside the system of existing international social and legal relations and what kind of relations we have, we can not determine what we should become and what should turn into.

An analysis of this question can be started only from the second part of it, i.e. from the question of what is the modern system of international social and legal relations – economic, political and cultural-domestic.

The following factors are the distinguishing points that determine the features of this system:

  1. The Slave (colonial-imperialist) character of the modern world economy and politics.

Analysis of social and legal relations between individual peoples of the world reveals that the nationalities from which modern mankind is formed are sharply divided into two camps that are hostile to each other and unequal in number according to their social and legal situation; in one camp there are peoples constituting only 20-25% of humanity, who have managed to take into their hands almost the entire globe, with all the “living” and dead riches contained in it and on it, and established the monopoly “right” to exploit them; in another camp there are peoples making up 4/5 of all mankind and falling under the economic, political and cultural bondage and slavery of the peoples of the first camp, in other words, the “master” or “civilized” peoples. 

In the “civil” language of “gentlemen”, the peoples of the first group are called “civilized,” “civil” nations, called upon to save mankind “from slavery, ignorance, and poverty.” The peoples of the second group in their language are called “savages,” “natives,” etc. and created, according to their “scientific” judgments, to serve the interests of “civilized-nations.” The “natives” and “savages” have not yet invented special terms for the designation of “civilized” peoples and, whether by the “poverty” of their lexicon or lack of scientific understanding, they call them simply “dogs,” “robbers,” “executioners,” and other similar “indecent” and incomprehensible epithets.

The peoples of the first category include the “civilized” peoples of Europe and America, which spread gradually in other parts of the world are generally called “the peoples of the West.” The second group includes the peoples of Asia and Africa and the Aborigines of Australia and America, colonized by Europeans.

Analyzing the relations between the two groups of people, we state that the entire system of economic, political and cultural relations of the peoples of the West (metropolitan countries) to the peoples of the colonies and semi-colonies characterizes the system of slaveholding relations.

A number of conditions, of a historical and natural-geographical nature that influenced the progress of technology and culture of the peoples of the West, conditioned the transition into their hands of the means of economic and cultural communication between the peoples of different parts of the world, in other words the international communications and military-strategic points, thereby creating the prerequisites for the transition into their hands the entire initiative in the development of the world’s political and economic relations between the peoples of Western and Eastern cultures.

By a well-known moment of history, the technology and culture of the peoples of Europe proved to be more viable and rational, from the point of view of the struggle for existence, than that of the hegemons of the world, the Muslim peoples of Asia and Africa, who were settling on them at that time, and allowed them to break up the latter and occupy the necessary bridgeheads, to freely extend their influence to the rest of the Asian and African continent.

World trade routes, trade markets and sources of raw materials, as well as military-strategic points, with few exceptions, were in the hands of the peoples of the West. And the people of the West extended their system of intra-national slavery (if serfdom in the epoch of feudalism was a form of slave-owning economy, then class oppression in the era of capitalism is also slave-owning – the exploitation of man by man, but only in another, reformed form) entirely to their colonies – “black” and “yellow” continents, thus giving an international character to it and transformed it into an “international” system of slavery. The peoples of these continents actually turned into slaves deprived of the right to own the natural wealth of their countries and work for the benefit of their “civil” masters – the people of the metropole. 

  1. The parasitic and reactionary character of the material culture of metropole as the main factor of the world development of this epoch.

The colonial-slave-owning character of the modern system of world economy determines entirely its next feature-the deep parasitism and the highly reactionary nature of the entire present culture of the peoples of the West as the main factor in the development of mankind in this epoch. These, the properties of the material culture of the metropolitan countries are expressed in the following two points:

a) The static moment – the monopolistic concentration of the means of production and circulation, and the subjects of consumption that are necessary for humanity, in the hands of the peoples of the metropole. 

In the hands of the metropolitan countries with some 300-350 million people has accumulated all the main means of production (factory industry), means of circulation (financial capital and its apparatus), ways and means of transportation and communication (sea routes, railway lines, air messages, telegraph and radiograph); as well as sources of raw materials (oil, coal, ore, animals and plant products) and markets for industrial products. In this respect, the West seems to be a giant octopus, embracing with its tentacles four-fifths of humanity and sucking from it all its vital juices. To this we must add that the octopus is not an ordinary octopus from under the waters of the ocean, but an octopus-armadillo, an octopus warrior, an octopus, a deadly bearer armed with the latest military art and military “inventions” of the West. True, these gains did not increase the courage and bravery of this octopus. But his cowardly cruelty and bloodthirstiness has increased: the octopus now sucks the lifeblood from the living organism of the peoples of the colonies and semi-colonies, enriching one, the smaller, part of the world’s population at the expense of exhaustion, pauperization, degeneration and extinction of the other, the majority.

b) The Dynamic Moment – the parasitic and reactionary character of the material of the metropole from the point of view of the maximum development of the productive forces of mankind.

This moment is closely connected with the first and is its complement and development.

In fact, it is the basis for what the modern culture of metropolitan countries seeks as a regulator of the development of mankind in the current epoch.

If the essence of the material culture of the peoples of the West consisted solely in the monopolistic nature of the modern system of their economy (monopoly capitalism or imperialism), then this as a form of organization of the world economy would be only half bad. But the whole point is that the essence of the material culture of the metropolitan countries, the main internal content of it, that is, the true content of all these “monopoly capitalisms,” “imperialisms” and other social categories of the public of the West is not at all in this static form, but in its dynamic, in the specific tendency of its development.

This trend is that the existence and development of the modern material culture of the peoples of the West is based not only on the preservation of slave-owning and bonded relations to the peoples of the East, in other words on the exploitation of the natural – natural forces and resources of colonies and semi-colonies, but also on the delay of the development of the domestic productive forces of the latter, on the suppression of the growth of their material culture.

What is the basis for the modern culture of the West?

On the monopoly production and sale of goods for the metropolitan countries and colonies, in other words as a monopolist in the world economy and production process.

What is it based on?

On the delay in the development of the domestic economy, in the absence of a national industry of colonies and semi-colonies; in other words on the preservation of the agrarian, purely peasant character of these countries, when they, because of the absence or underdevelopment of national industry, are forced to resort in their economic life to the “help” of the metropolitan countries, in other words, the world monopoly industry.

Specifically, this process consists of the following elements:

a) The provision of the main elements of the economy of the metropole – industry – with cheap raw materials, hence the aggressive policy of the peoples of the West towards the countries of Asia and Africa as sources of raw materials, with all that accompanies this policy and the resulting phenomena: firstly, the ruthless struggle with the remnants of independence of the semi-colonies and the brutal suppression of the slightest manifestation of political independence on the part of the colonies, and secondly, constant competitive wars due to colonial possessions between individual national metropolitan groups. In other words, the development of social contradictions between colonies and metropole, on the one hand, and national conflicts between individual national groups of dictatorial metropole, on the other.

b) The provision of cheap production costs for the factories of industry, by improving the technology of production and exploitation of the labor of industrial workers in the metropolitan areas and subsidiary workers from the colonies. Hence, the existence of class contradictions in metropolitan areas and the emergence of class-based political parties on the basis of these contradictions.

c) The provision of cheap (profitable) markets for the products of the industry of the metropole. Hence, the deepening of the colonial-aggressive policy of the metropolitan countries directed not only to keep the colonies and semi-colonies in their own hands and under their own yoke but also to keep them precisely as permanent markets for the sale of industrial fabrics in the metropole.

The result of this policy is only an even greater aggravation of social contradictions between colonies and metropole, and these contradictions assume the importance of a factor of paramount international importance.

The last element in the process of the dynamics of the material culture of metropolitan countries occupies a particularly important place in the system of established relationships between the metropolitan countries and colonies. This element, being the main active spring of the modern culture of the peoples of the West, simultaneously acts as the main cause of all those social abnormalities that are revealed in the development of modern mankind as a whole.

These abnormalities are obvious and they can only be denied by blind people and political degenerates. They are as follows:

a) The Hostile and unproductive operation of the natural riches of the Earth, in the peculiarities of the resources of colonial and semi-colonies, from the point of view of the general interests of humanity.

This truth hardly requires proofs, it is enough to observe the management of the metropolitan areas, ‘home’, and in the colonies, so as not to be immediately convinced of this.

b) The irrational organization of the global process of production and distribution and as a whole and the unproductive waste of mass human energy.

The means of production, concentrated mainly in the hands of the metropolitan countries, are far from the main sources of raw materials and world markets and thus necessitate the transfer, of raw materials to the means of production, firstly and the products of its processing (goods) to the markets secondly. For example, some wool or leather raw materials from Tibet, India or Afghanistan should get to the UK, turn into cloth, shoes or other goods and then travel back to their “homeland.” Or, for example, Turkestan or Transcaucasian cotton (by the way, together with the Baku oil) must first make a trip to the country of the “civilized” – somewhere in Moscow or Ivanovo-Voznesensk and, turning into a manufactory or something else, to do the opposite (secondary) journey to the same Turkestan or Transcaucasia, and sometimes further – to Persia, Afghanistan, etc. From the point of view of economy of means and human energy, it would be more expedient to act in just the opposite way: to process raw materials into what is necessary for people in its “motherland,” in other words in the colonies and semi-colonies themselves where, incidentally, with the exception of the means of production (which can be moved there from metropolitan areas or organized again), there is a combination of all the necessary conditions for this: raw materials, liquid fuels, unused and extinct human energy, the need for appropriate factories from the population of the colonies, and sending it to “foreign travel” only as is necessary; in other words conforming to the corresponding natural consumer demand from there, not as a “wild” raw material, but as a “civil” commodity.

c) The waste of mass human energy for the constant and regular “protection” of the existing order of things and the structure it requires, in other words, the existing irrationality in the organization of the world economy and the relevance of this social negligence (injustice). 

It expresses itself in the rabid militarism of the West, in the monstrous growth of its land, sea, and air armaments and the corps of internal and external guards. The peoples of the West are protected not only from the oppressed peoples of the colonies and semi-colonies and from all sorts of “yellow,” “black” and other “dangers” and “panisms,” but also “from each other.”

d) The delay of the natural development of the productive forces of the colonies and semi-colonies, the majority of the world population. On this ground emerges the social inequality between the peoples of the colonies and the metropole and the prevention of the cultural development of all of modern mankind as a whole.

It is advantageous for Western predatory imperialism to maintain backward forms of economy and social relations in colonial countries. Only on the basis of this backwardness, can the predatory culture of the metropole breathe and develop. To keep the colonial peoples in darkness and oppression and not give them the opportunity to revive culturally is the most real and vital need of the peoples of the West, which have turned into jailers of the freedom of mankind. Hence the social inequality that we see in the position of the peoples of the metropolitan countries, on the one hand, and the peoples of the colonies oppressed by them, on the other. While the peoples of metropolitan countries enjoy all the benefits of culture and all the gains of technology and science, the peoples of the colonial countries, in their mass, are forced to drag out the existence of half-starved slaves and beggars. We see steel and granite skyscrapers on one side and pitiful huts and shacks on the other; cars, trams, buses, trains, steamships and airplanes on one side, pathetic nags and antediluvian airbuses and wagons on the other; electric plows, tractors, steam threshers, melioration, artificial fertilizer fields, etc. on one side and a wooden plow, a shovel, a pickaxe and a pitchfork on the other; electricity, telephone, telegraph and radio on one side, a beam and a kerosene oil lamp and the absence of everything else on the other; fine arts, literature, games and laughter on one side, hopelessness and darkness, constant suffering and tears on the other; satiety, contentment and a secure life on one side, hunger, cold, poverty, disease, death and degeneration on the other.

Can we justify this state of affairs? Can we call it a normal position, normal order? No, and again no! From the point of view of any morality, this is an expression of the greatest social abnormality and glaring world social injustice.

  1. Strengthening the national cultures of the metropole to consolidation.

We would be incomplete in our analysis of the material culture of metropolitan countries if we leave unanswered yet another question, namely: where is the modern material culture of the peoples of the metropolitan countries headed and what does it want to become? This question is closely connected to the dynamics of the development of this culture and reveals one of the most characteristic and significant features of it, determining the prospects for the development of the world for the entire immediate era. We define this line as the desire for consolidation, in other words to the centralized unification of the disparate national-material cultures (capital) of the peoples of the metropole.

Does this desire exist?

Yes, it does. The recent international imperialist war, revolutionary cataclysms in Russia and other countries after the war, today’s “diplomatic” struggle between certain groups of “victorious” countries, the feverish work of the separate political parties of the peoples of the West are all the most diverse manifestations of this aspiration.

This aspiration is under pressure from the following two contradictions:

1) The discrepancy between the existing structure of the material culture of the peoples of metropolitan countries (nationally scattered, often proprietary or anarchic capitalist) of its internal essence, in other words, the needs of these people in a more organized and improved robbery and exploitation of the peoples of the colonies and semi-colonies;

2) In connection with this, the emergence in the colonies of material and political prerequisites for national independence and social emancipation from the yoke of the metropolitan countries; strengthening the so-called national liberation movement of the colonies.

We take the first contradiction. What is it specifically expressed in? It expresses itself in the fact that the existing order, the existing structure of the foundations of the material culture of the peoples of metropolitan countries cannot provide them with impunity, regular and, most importantly, full exploitation of the peoples of the colonies. The material needs of the peoples of metropolitan countries have outgrown the existing form of their material culture. The robbery and sucking of juices from the body of enslaved humanity, produced individually, without a single plan and a centralized will, are not effective enough in terms of productivity and not only do not give the maximum expected results, but even contrary to the will of the robbers, are fraught with all sorts of surprises. It turns out that such a system of exploitation of colonies and semi-colonies and the rest of the oppressed part of mankind cannot stop the complete circulation of blood in their bodies. They continue to maintain their vitality, continue to live, breathe, and sometimes, when their enslavers are engaged in a fight among themselves because of someone else’s good, they even dare to oppose them. Can the peoples of the West afford such a “luxury” on the part of the peoples of the colonies? Of course not. Whether they want to or not, the question of changing the internal structure of their material culture, the question of the transition to a new, higher, more organized and perfect forms of management, rises before them and it can not be otherwise!

What is the essence of the internal structure of the material culture of the metropolitan countries of the lived (passing) era? Its essence lies in two provisions: private property within nations and private property between nations, in other words, the relative disunity of the means of production and circulation of the accumulated wealth both within the nations themselves, and between individual nations.

Let us take the first position – private property within nations. What results does it give in the course of developing the material culture of the peoples of the West? Firstly, competition between individual owners (capitalists) and their associations (trusts, syndicates, cartels, etc.) or even among whole industries themselves. In pursuit of profit and of bigger profit shares they mutually struggle among themselves and a significant part of their energy goes to the organization of this struggle and this competition. True, this competition, being the only and necessary part of capitalism based on private property in general, plays a generally progressive role in the concentration and centralization of capital. Nevertheless, on a social scale, under the condition of the existence of colonies aspiring for independent development, it is for metropolitan countries a factor that weakens their exploitative power over the former. If, for example, any capitalist enterprise of England is sent to work in India, then it must spend part of its capital to fight a similar British enterprise or joint-stock company and lose a certain percentage of its forces and capabilities on this. Due to non-centralization and non-unity on a national scale, the plundering of British capital in India does not fully and completely bring about the effect and results that it could give in case of centralization.  

The principle of private ownership inevitably gives birth to another factor that is negative from the point of view of the power of the peoples of the metropolitan countries, namely, the class struggle based on intra-national class inequality. Against the backdrop of the class struggle in the West, there were three main political trends reflecting the ideology of the respective main classes of metropolitan countries: conservatism, the political ideology of the big bourgeoisie; liberalism as a political ideology of the middle and petty bourgeoisie and socialism as the ideology of the working class. The struggle of these classes among themselves, reflecting, in fact, and to a certain extent, their desire for political power, cannot but weaken at some moments the offensive strength of the peoples of the metropolitan countries in relation to the colonies. Here we can give an example of the defeat of Russia during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904, when the presence of a rather pronounced class struggle within Russia (the liberal Russian commercial and industrial bourgeoisie came up with a number of political requirements with respect to the feudal landlord, Russian workers came out with political demands both in relation to that and to the other) was the main prerequisite for the defeat of Russian troops in the theater of military operations.

The opposite example is the classic example of the victory of the reborn Turkey over the gangs of international imperialism in 1922, largely conditioned by the fact that if the insurgent Turkey was a monolithic national whole, uniting all classes of the Turkish people in one fiery impulse of the struggle for national independence, then the camp of opponents – Europe – was a bubbling volcano of national and class contradictions.

And here we have to state that the fight of classes inside the metropole in the modern conditions of their development is again a weakening the future preventative force of the hegemony of the west. 

The second contradiction – private property between the metropolitan nations – is also a similar factor. In other words, the national fragmentation of their material culture, giving rise to the strongest national competition and national struggle between them. The presence of this factor greatly hinders the position of the peoples of metropolitan countries as the hegemons of the world. It weakens their general pressure on the colonies and leaves for them the possibility of movement and maneuver. What is the basis of the preservation of Turkey’s independence, the revival of Afghanistan’s independence, the strengthening of the elements of Egypt’s independence? What is the basis for the strengthening of the national liberation movement in India, Morocco, China, etc.? What is the basis for the revival of some old (Poland) and the emergence of new state formations (Czechoslovakia, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Ireland) in Europe itself? What is the basis for strengthening the national liberation movement of non-Russian nationalities in Russia?

All this is, to a large extent, based precisely on the national disunity of the material culture of the West. The struggle of the peoples of the metropole among themselves because of primacy and because of hegemony over the world contributes only to ease their pressure on the colony and opens up the possibility for the latter to struggle for political independence.

Let us pass to the analysis of the second contradiction, i.e. Liberation movement of the Colonies and Semicolonies. Is there really such a movement and if “yes,” is it really growing and progressing? We will answer this with the language of facts.

Japan: Half a century ago, Japan was a small semi-colonial country, which could not even think about participating in international politics. But when it came to awakening, how she crushed the thunder of the peoples of Asia and the gendarme of Europe, the hardened feudal imperialist, tsarist Russia. Ten years have not passed since Japan participates in the beating of Europe, as Germany’s next imperialist power, by Russia. For the time being, at least, Germany has been knocked out of the rut. And now Japan is forming a bloc with France, China and Russia against England. The combination may change, but the fact remains. If these plans are justified, then the next day she will participate in the formation of a bloc against the transatlantic power – America. And this is quite natural. Japan can not remain forever on its islands. The future of the Japanese people requires opening doors to Siberia for resettlement and the doors of China and other countries for the allotment of Japanese commercial and industrial capital. It is in her interest to smash the giants of European imperialism by parts.

Turkey: Even the notorious enemies of the long-suffering Turkish people are now clear what is happening in this country: a healthy process of national revival. Those who doubted, or did not believe it, experienced it on their own skin. The bayonets of the Turkish workers and peasants and the Turkish progressive intelligentsia, dedicated to the cause of the national revival of Turkey, have taught those who should think realistically. Four hundred years ago, Russian tsars had to defeat the Kazan Khanate, the citadel of the northern Turks, and through the corpses of the Tatar fighters, step further – to the East. Then the Western European imperialists had to defeat the southern Ottoman Turks to open their way to the same East. Was not the desperate attack of Turkey on their side preceding the advance of the peoples of the West to the East? To become the real masters of the situation in Asia and Africa, the peoples of Europe had to step over the corpses of the Ottoman fighters. The fall of Kazan under the onslaught of the Russians occurred not in one day. Dozens of times they attacked it, and the conquest of Tatarstan is preceded by dozens of years of struggle between the then two northern titans: Kazan and Moscow. The winners did not immediately manage to consolidate their gain. It took several decades of uninterrupted guerrilla warfare between the victors and the vanquished, with all the horrors of extermination and slaughter, until the will of the vanquished was finally broken. Europe needed hundreds of years of struggle against the southern Turks to weaken them and take away from them the Balkans, Egypt, Arabia, Mesopotamia, etc. The rulers of Europe failed and will not be able to break Turkey. She is alive and will live. We think that she will not only live, but will also breathe life into those former parts that were torn away from her by the violence of Europe, to the rest of the Middle East.

China: China, this oldest nation of all the old peoples of the world, slept for a long time, but finally opened its eyes. He is awakening now. Awakening from centuries of hibernation, he lies on the bed and straightens his numb joints. But he will soon rise to his feet. No power can keep him in bed now. What is happening in recent years in China, this is a deep indication of the revival of these people. The Chinese people managed to make a revolution in 1911. She will also be able to complete the next revolution, after which the unified parts of China will merge into a mighty steel fist, after the impact of whose punch the peoples of the West will hardly recover. The periodic outbreaks of the civil war in China are only a prelude to the great concert of the revival of the four hundred million Chinese people. Let tens and hundreds of thousands of victims perish in this bloody struggle of the Chinese people; these sacrifices are unavoidable and they will not be wasted for nothing. Civil wars in China are only a manifestation of the great process of consolidating the Chinese nation, which will require for its completion, not one more decade.

India: India awakens as well. The process of rebuilding India is more painful than the process of China’s rebirth. And this is quite understandable: after all, India is a colony of the most powerful of European bandits – England. But no matter how terrible the old sea pirate is, it can not resist the liberation movement of India. Through repression, bribery, provocations and diplomatic tricks, England will be able, perhaps, to delay the process of emancipation of India, but it can not completely stop it.

The liberation movement of India is wavy. The rise of revolutionary sentiments alternate with their decline. But one thing is clear: any such temporary “decline” in the revolutionary mood of the Indian people is only a shift, followed by a new upsurge and a new wave of revolutionary sentiments, stronger and more formidable. We have no doubt that eventually, the day will come when the revolutionary wave of the liberation movement of India will break through all the artificial dams that Britain has barred from it and the whole world, Egypt, Morocco, and the colonies of Russia will be influenced by its flooding. It strengthens the general chorus of revolutionary efforts for liberation from the oppression of the West and the movement of Egypt, Morocco and the colonies of Russia is no different from the revolutionary liberation movement of China, India, Turkey, etc. All of them occur under the slogan of emancipation from imperialism, or rather, the hegemony of the peoples of the West. It differs only in its shape and pace: it is stronger or weaker, faster or slower, more stormy or calmer, larger or less than the movement of the former, depending on which country, under what historical conditions and with what kind of driving forces it occurs. 

We will not dwell in more detail on the movement of Egypt, Morocco and other African or Asian colonies of the West, because these are well known in their basic features. Here we will highlight the movement of the colonial peoples of Russia. We note that the liberation movement in the colonies of Russia (Turkestan, the Caucasus, Ukraine, the Crimea, Belarus, the Turkic-Finnish and Mongolian peoples) is evident. If the defeat of tsarist Russia by Japan in 1904, which caused the revolution of 1905, contributed to the awakening of national self-consciousness of the colonial, oppressed peoples of this country, its defeat on the Western and Caucasian fronts in the world war that caused the revolution of 1917 only deepened the process of the liberation movements of these peoples. The facts of the separation of Poland, Finland and the small Baltic states from Russia; the facts of the emergence of the Tatar, Bashkir, Kirghiz, Central Asian, Transcaucasian, Ukrainian, Byelorussian and other republics, as well as a dozen autonomous national regions, systematically fighting for the expansion of sovereignty rights, eloquently confirm this position. And no matter how much the pan-Russians and their supporters (under whatever mask they may be: under the guise of “democrats” or “communists”) seek to eliminate this movement, no matter how much they try to reduce their role to the role of ordinary Russian provinces, or to its weakening, they have not yet succeeded in doing so, and will not be able to, no matter how clever the frauds are, invented by them, in the direction of combating the growing activity of the “nationals” in their struggle for national independence. So far, all this has produced only the opposite results.

By establishing the USSR, the pan-Russians would like to restore, in fact, a single, indivisible Russia, the hegemony of the Great Russians over other peoples, but not a year later did all the nations declared their loud protest against the centralistic tendencies of pan-Russian Moscow (the session of the Council of Nationalities of the last session of the Central Executive Committee of the USSR).

Wanting to weaken Turkestan, economically and politically, Moscow is dismembering the Turanian peoples today into small separate tribes, but in less than two years, the dismembered parts of Turan 24 will talk about restoring unity and unite into a stronger, more powerful and organized state unit. Today, Russia separates Mongolia from China. She wants to “tame” this country to herself. And Mongolia does not mind succumbing to Moscow’s embrace. But what Mongolia will say tomorrow, when it gets to its feet and strengthens its “Khuruldan”25, it is still unknown. From the experience of the last revolution in Russia, we came to the conclusion that no matter what class in Russia came to power, none of them would be able to restore the former “greatness” and power of this country. Russia as a multinational state and the state of the Russians inevitably goes to disintegration and to dismemberment. One of two things: either it (Russia) will be dismembered into its constituent national parts and form several new and independent state organisms, or the Russian sovereignty in Russia will be replaced by the collective sovereignty of the “nations,” in other words, the dictatorship of the Russian people over all other people will be replaced with the dictatorship of these latter people over the Russian people. This is a historical inevitability as a derivative of a combination. Rather, the first will happen, and if the second happens, it will still be just a transition to the first. The former Russia, which was restored under the present form of the USSR, will not last long. It is transitory and temporary.

These are only the last sighs, the last convulsions of the dying. Against the backdrop of the disintegration of Russia, the figures of the following national state entities are quite distinct: Ukraine (with Crimea and Belarus), the Caucus can exist as a union of the North Caucasus with Transcaucasia, Turan (as an alliance of Tatarstan, Bashkiria, Kyrgyzstan and a federation of Turkestan republics), Siberia and Great Russia. We do not consider Finland, Poland and the small Baltic states that have already separated from Russia.

Thus, the facts of the liberation movement of the colonies and semi-colonies are evident. It exists and it is real, it progresses and develops.

Where are the reasons and the material basis of this movement? From what does it arise and what is its real essence and sum of international social and legal mutual relations?26

The Retrograde Left

J.R. Murray argues that the left must abandon the micro-sect form of organization derived from a false reading of the true meaning of Bolshevism, or else we will continue to exist in an endless cycle of self-marginalization. 

It was only 28 years ago that liberal democracy triumphed and the fall of the USSR ushered in “The End of History”. In subsequent decades the U.S. working class was subjected to a neoliberal onslaught which dismantled an already weak welfare state and eroded worker power. But today, after the 2008 financial crisis, the ensuing global recession, the Occupy protests, a specious economic recovery, the overall stagnation and disillusionment of the Obama years, and the rise of Donald Trump, liberal democracy is threatened to a degree that would have felt unimaginable in 1991.

The American bourgeoisie has no solution for continued economic and social inequality, climate catastrophe, or the alienation of everyday life. The logic of capitalism compels the ruling class to roll back every concession the working class gained since the New Deal. The same tunnel vision is on display in the militarization of the southern border, mass deportation, and stoking of nationalism and xenophobia. In a way, this is just practice for the coming mass migrations spurred on by ecological collapse. The United States is rapidly becoming a police state for its poorest inhabitants, who suffer the worst deprivations of capitalism and the climate catastrophe it has unleashed while having their political rights eviscerated, their lives meticulously surveilled, and their movements constricted.  For most people the present is unsustainable and the future is bleak. The working class, especially young workers, are looking for an alternative, and socialism’s appeal is re-emerging. One result of this re-emergence has been the explosive growth of the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) and the modest growth of “Leninist” socialist organizations such as Socialist Alternative (SAlt), the Party for Socialism and Liberation (PSL), and the International Socialist Organization (ISO), before its dissolution earlier this year.

Since Donald Trump’s election, the DSA’s popularity has risen above and beyond what their Leninist cousins could ever hope to achieve. While the DSA suffers from serious problems, it still offers hope for a renewed socialist movement. On the other hand, the Leninist sect exemplifies an outdated organizational structure that featured so prominently in the failures of 20th-century socialism. Indeed, just recently the ISO voted to dissolve itself in part due to scandals and abuses that tend to flourish in the top-down sect structure. Critical analysis of the Leninist sect and its failures was necessary before the ISO collapsed and is even more necessary while we sift through the debris.

To understand the structural failures of the sect and the poor strategy this structure engenders we need to locate the key historical assumptions that are routinely invoked as a justification for incompetent political and organizational positions. This is an imperative first step if we wish to move beyond ineffectual sects and toward a radically democratic mass party as the vehicle for the working-class seizure of power.

Lenin & Today’s Bolsheviks

Socialist organizations across the ideological spectrum justify a myriad of positions by invoking Lenin and the Bolshevik party. But which Lenin are they praising? The Lenin of 1905 who believed the Russian Revolution would be a bourgeois revolution, or the Lenin who wrote the April Theses? The Lenin that helped to ban factions within the party or the Lenin who, at the end of his life, warned his comrades of the rising bureaucracy? Lenin the living, breathing, man, or Lenin the body, mummified and forced to lie in a mausoleum against his wishes? Lenin is no deity. He invokes inspiration because of his courage, dynamic range of thought, brilliant timing, and careful use of Marxist analysis. But today, a self-perpetuating bureaucracy sifts through Lenin’s work, interpreting it for their own ends, cutting and pasting pieces of it to justify their existence.

The leading “revolutionary” socialist parties fashion themselves after the Bolsheviks of 1917. But their conception of the Bolshevik party is like their conception of Lenin: flat and ossified. In reality, nearly every self described “Leninist” organization today is descended from the post-1921 Bolshevik party — a bureaucratic, top-down apparatus disconnected from the people it claimed to represent.

In 1921 the Bolsheviks were in a desperate situation, floundering after the failure of revolution in industrialized Europe and reeling from the one-two punch of World War I and their own brutal civil war which left their economy destroyed. Worst of all, members of the Russian working class were either dead, demoralized, or fleeing to the countryside. At the start of the 20th century, Russia was a nation of peasants just beginning to take steps toward industrialization, and by 1921 they had taken steps backward; if the working class was small before the wars, now it barely existed. In his massive biography of Trotsky, Isaac Deutscher summarized the situation:

Thus a few years after the revolution the nation was incapable of managing its own affairs and of asserting itself through its own authentic representatives. The old ruling classes were crushed; and the new ruling class, the proletariat, was only a shadow of its former self. No party could claim to represent the dispersed working class; and the workers could not control the party which claimed to speak for them and to rule the country on their behalf.

Whom then did the Bolshevik party represent? It represented only itself, that is, its past association with the working class, its present aspiration to act as guardian of the proletarian class interest, and its intention to reassemble in the course of economic reconstruction a new working class which should be able in due time to take the country’s destinies into its hands. In the meantime, the Bolshevik party maintained itself in power by usurpation. Not only its enemies saw it as a usurper—the party appeared as a usurper even in the light of its own standards and its own conception of the revolutionary state.

The Bolsheviks of 1921 existed to perpetuate their own existence as regents of the absent working class. Almost 100 years later, revolutionary socialist organizations cannot offer the same excuse. There is no reason for U.S. socialist organizations to copy emergency structural reforms put into place by the Bolshevik party in the early Soviet Union. An enormous working-class suffering indignity and exploitation surrounds the U.S. Left and yet barely comes into contact with it. These socialist parties hang suspended in mid-air, gazing down at the working class below, never close enough to meet it for more than a moment.

Members of the Bolshevik Party in 1917

Bureaucratic Centralism

Just as socialist parties remain separated from the working class, the leadership of socialist parties stays separated from their rank-and-file members. Assuming they toe the party line, certain individual activists are allowed into the leadership circle. But the leadership itself remains small and powerful. Decisions are often made without consulting the rank-and-file, and bureaucratic maneuvering dominates the politics of decision making. The ruling clique controls the party from the top down, enforcing its ideological program and ensuring a constant stream of new recruits to replace previous burnt out cadre.

Hal Draper would describe the current Leninist parties as “bureaucratic sects”. He explained the basic strategy of these sects in his pamphlet “Anatomy of a Microsect”:

The sect mentality typically sees the road ahead as one in which the sect (one’s own sect) will grow and grow, because it has the Correct Political Program, until it becomes a large sect, then a still larger sect, eventually a small mass party, then larger, etc., until it becomes large and massy enough to impose itself as the party of the working class in fact. But in two hundred years of socialist history, this has never actually happened, in spite of innumerable attempts.

The sect wishes to recruit members in the ones and twos with the hopes that, one day, it will be large enough to superimpose itself onto a working class movement.

Because of its relation to the proletariat as the perennial other, a sect may be completely unaware of the working class’s needs, concerns, and demands. Draper elaborates that the sect instead “counter-poses its sect criterion of programmatic points against the real movement of the workers in the class struggle, which may not measure up to its high demands.” Rather than expressing the will of the working class, a sect demands that the working class bend to its will.

Draper described the bureaucracy’s strategy in a sentence, “…their organizational road to power is the formation of an elite band of Maximum Leaders which holds itself ready to bestow its own rule, at a propitious movement, on an elemental upsurge of the people.” For a sect, the party is not a vehicle of working class power and a means for workers to emancipate themselves; instead, the working class is a wave upon which the party rides into power.

Within the modern sect, intra-party democracy is suppressed and, as always, Lenin and the Bolsheviks are invoked as justification. The defenders of the sect-form claim to practice the same democratic centralism as the 1917 Bolsheviks, but their stunted understanding of the party structure that helped make the Bolsheviks’ successful in 1917 prevents them from recognizing their actual organizational forebearers: the post-civil war Bolshevik party.

By 1921 opposition parties were effectively banned. By many accounts this was not an ideal which the Bolsheviks worked to achieve, but rather a reality forced on them through dire circumstance. Deutscher shares an anecdote by the Menshevik Sukhanov which highlights this point:

Sukhanov relates that three years later after the Bolsheviks had banned all the parties of the opposition, he reminded Trotsky of his pledge not to lend himself to the suppression of any minority. Trotsky lapsed into silence, reflected for a while, and then said wistfully: “Those were good days.”

Deutscher’s description of the internal debates leading up to institutionalized one-party rule reinforces how important internal democracy was to early Bolshevism. He depicts the party at a crossroads where “…Bolshevism suffered a moral agony the like of which is hardly to be found in the history of less intense and impassioned movements. Later Lenin recalled the ‘fever’ and ‘mortal illness’ which consumed the party in the winter of 1920-21.” The Bolsheviks had intended one-party rule to be temporary, possibly lasting several years, possibly a couple of decades, but never lasting forever. The logic of banning opposition in the Soviets inevitably led to the banning of factions within the party itself, deepening an anti-democratic trend and setting the stage for Stalinist bureaucracy to flourish.

The socialist parties of today are direct descendants of that bureaucratic party-form, and they have fewer qualms than their Bolshevik ancestors about silencing dissent. As far back as 1969, Ralph Miliband was critiquing the farcical internal democracy of official communist parties:

…Communist parties were greatly unhinged by alternating bouts of sectarianism and opportunism and, indeed, quite commonly, by both simultaneously. The extreme tensions which this produced inside these parties were contained, but never subdued, by a bureaucratic application of the principle of ‘democratic centralism’, which made so much room for centralism that it left little or no room for democracy. One result of this bureaucratic deformation was a catastrophic ideological impoverishment and the transformation of the Marxism these parties professed into a vulgarized, manipulative and sloganized phraseology, which greatly affected their capacity for ‘raising the level of consciousness’. In short, their whole historical tradition has powerfully limited the effectiveness of their role and left a vast gap between their actual performance and the kind of ideological and political effort required of revolutionary formations.

These Communist parties are a genealogical link between the Bolsheviks of the 1920s and the Leninist organizations of today. Because of this, our modern day parties suffer from the same flaw, namely, they do not practice democratic centralism, but bureaucratic centralism. Within contemporary parties, decisions are made at the top and passed down to the rank and file. Cursory nods are made to democracy while centralism is strictly enforced to crush meaningful debate.

If the Bolsheviks’ decision to ban factions within their party was difficult, it is because the party was largely democratic beforehand. Certainly, the Bolsheviks of 1917 were leagues more democratic than the current-day socialist parties who claim their legacy. In Trotsky’s “The Crisis of the German Opposition”, he recounts how the party operated before the ban on factions:

Whoever is acquainted with the history of the Bolshevik Party knows what a broad autonomy the local organizations always enjoyed: they issued their own papers, in which they openly and sharply, whenever they found it necessary, criticized the actions of the central committee. Had the central committee, in the case of principled differences, attempted to disperse the local organizations … before the party had had an opportunity to express itself — such a central committee would have made itself impossible.

This way of operating a party is unheard of today, especially among the explicitly revolutionary groups. Multiple papers published by a single organization are rare, and within a single paper opposing views are few and far between. Local organizations are subjugated to the tyranny of the national leadership. Dissent is barely tolerated and public dissent is perceived as an existential threat. Slate voting means elections are more indirect, and it makes it harder to recall individual leaders from power. Public ballots allow leadership to intimidate rank-and-file members. A myriad of policies and norms like the above examples all combine to reproduce an unaccountable monolith.

That mixture of an undemocratic culture and practice led by an entrenched bureaucracy sets the stage for an infinite number of splits. Without proper channels for dissent and debate arguments cannot be resolved, and members often leave to form their own sect or are forced out via intimidation and purges. Mike Macnair in his book Revolutionary Strategy observes that “the overall effect of the purges [is] to increase the power of the party bureaucracy as such over the rank and file…”

The existence of multiple sects disconnected from the working class, dominated by an entrenched bureaucracy, and plagued by high turnover, create an environment in which competition for dues-paying members flourishes. This competition requires the strangling of democracy, which then props up the bureaucratic leadership. The process is a feedback loop.  Macnair further explains:

The members, though active, are active in doing what the leaders tell them, and cease to be really active citizens of their party. The leaders become a firm selling a brand… Dissent — especially dissent about fundamentals — becomes the enemy of ‘activism’ and the ‘activists’ themselves resent the dissenters who are ‘stopping them getting on with the job’. In this framework, serious disagreement inevitably leads to a split.

The result is decades of petty sectarianism, activist burnout, and total irrelevance.

While surveying the sorry state of the revolutionary left it is important to remember that there are alternatives. Hal Draper presents us with the critical component to any healthy socialist movement:

The key question becomes the achievement of a mass base, which is not just a numerical matter but a matter of class representation. Given a mass base in the social struggle, the party does not necessarily have to suppress the internal play of political conflict, since the centrifugal force of political disagreements is counterbalanced by the centripetal pressure of the class struggle.

The process of rebuilding a mass base within the class we claim to represent is the best way to guard against bureaucratic leadership and move beyond the Left’s own endless self-marginalization.

Hal Draper’s critique of the micro-sect from the 1970s are still relevant

Rebuilding

While many organizers and activists are from sections of the working class, the parties and organizations that make up the movement lack a base within it. Instead of focusing on building deep ties to the working class along the lines of the Bolsheviks in 1917, the Left continues to focus on political theater, i.e. marches and demonstrations.

Mobilizing is not inherently unproductive: it can be useful for putting pressure on government officials, intimidating the Right, and raising morale among the Left, but it is useless in a vacuum. Macnair elaborates, “the point is that these tactics, which may be appropriate under various conditions, do not amount to a strategy for workers’ power and socialism.” We hold march after march, we present our demands over and over, and then we go home empty-handed. We chant that these are “our streets” after asking the state for proper permits. We claim that “this is what democracy looks like” while surrounded by police. Decades of marching and we are as powerless as ever. It is crucial that we move beyond this cycle.

Much has been written about the necessity of socialists returning to workplace organizing, but organizing a workplace is not enough. Socialists must begin to organize whole communities in a way that directly confronts capital and the ruling class. The working class is more dispersed than it was even fifty years ago. In the United States workers are no longer concentrated in factories where they can easily rub shoulders with Marxist organizers. Organizing new or often ignored sections of workers, such as care workers, Uber drivers, service workers, tenants, ex-prisoners, veterans, immigrant workers, etc., must be a priority. The best way to do this is by organizing workers’ communities. In this way we organize across employment sectors, we organize the young, the old, the unemployed, the homeless, and everyone in between. In short, we create a situation in which the answer to the question “whose streets?” is truly “our streets”.

Soup kitchens, clothing drives, reading groups, free classes, tenants unions, solidarity networks against ICE and other law enforcement agencies, and health clinics can all be built and should be built by socialist parties. These institutions offer socialists a real connection and a tangible base within the working class while simultaneously building the power of working-class communities. Instead of parties claiming to represent working-class interests and fighting on their behalf, these institutions, in addition to workplace organizing, will cultivate a socialist Left of and for the working class. Without this type of organizing there can be no mass party.

It may take a long time, and it will require patience, but there is no shortcut to working class power. Lenin, speaking after Russia’s 1905 revolution, explained how socialists had successfully led the revolution of that year: “Do you think, my dear sirs, this came all of a sudden or was the result prepared and secured by years and years of slow, obstinate, inconspicuous, noiseless work?” Our entire existence should be the preparation for the day when the working class can take power. If socialists ignore the long and challenging task of building a base then we give up any hope of winning power, and if power is not our aim then we truly are irrelevant.

Beyond Myth

Deutscher’s description of the Bolshevik of 1921 feels familiar today: “Acting without the normal working class in the background, the Bolshevik from long habit still invoked the will of that class in order to justify whatever he did. But he invoked it only as a theoretical surmise and an ideal standard of behavior, in short, something of a myth.” The working class remains a myth to U.S. socialists. We hear about it, speak about it, write about it, but it is not a class which we engage with or have roots in. Without organizing a base in our communities socialists will always be considered an “other”, forever disconnected from those they claim to represent, peering out into a sea of working class discontent but unable to join with it.

It is necessary to stop our mythologizing and engage with reality. The workers’ movement and the socialist movement are almost completely severed. Our task now is to reconnect the two. We must merge them through the slow and steady work of building a mass base alongside a radically democratic party free of onerous bureaucracies and ruling cliques. Without an accountable leadership, open factions, and freedom of debate, the socialist Left will remain in the periphery, continuously splitting and squabbling with one another. If we continue our attempts to build the negligible power of the sects we pledge allegiance to while ignoring the task of building working class power, then we have no hope.