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.

A Fight on Two Fronts: On Jean-Luc Godard’s La Chinoise

Doug Enaa Greene and Shalon van Tine discuss Jean-Luc Godard’s 1967 film La Chinoise in its historical context. 

Jean-Luc Godard’s La Chinoise (1967) is not an ordinary film. On the surface, La Chinoise seems simple enough: it tells the story of French students in the 1960s who form a Maoist collective, live together, have political discussions, and eventually turn to revolutionary violence. However, the film is difficult to follow since it not only lacks a coherent narrative structure, but the viewer is bombarded with slogans, images, and ideas on everything from popular culture to revolutionary politics. Anyone who attempts to analyze their meaning will easily feel buried by all the sights and sounds that Godard packs into it. Considering the chaotic nature of La Chinoise, the slogan found at the beginning — “We should replace vague ideas with clear images” — may well appear out of place, if not ironic.1

However, this slogan encapsulates what Godard attempted to achieve in La Chinoise. Godard wanted to overcome the distortions of bourgeois ideology that prevents the viewer from seeing the world as it truly is. To achieve this aim, he wanted film to be a medium of revolution. That meant he could not rely on the way film had customarily been produced, which was usually formulaic and promoted passivity instead of rebellion. In contrast to traditional cinema, Godard wanted to create a revolutionary art form that would break with bourgeois conventions and serve as a call to arms.

He accomplished this goal by drawing upon two major sources. The first source was German playwright Bertolt Brecht and his theory of “epic theater,” a method of political theater that forces the audience to actively engage with the ideas presented to them as opposed to passively consuming them. For Brecht, the theater should be an effective tool for getting viewers to see the world as it really is, as riven by class struggle. The second source was Maoism, which gained popularity among French intellectuals during the 1960s and appeared to advance a revolutionary alternative to the stagnation found in Soviet communism. It was the impact of Maoism in the radical imagination that offered Godard an appreciation of Third World revolutionary struggles, a sophisticated theory of ideology and conjuncture mediated through the work of philosopher Louis Althusser, and the need to politicize culture in service of the revolutionary cause. While his earlier films began to toy with some of these concepts, it is in La Chinoise that Godard’s vital mix of Brechtian aesthetics and Maoist ideas is most fully realized. 

Becoming Godard

Godard’s personal development contributed to his interaction with film later in his life. He grew up in a cultured home where reading literature aloud was a normal form of entertainment.2 As a child, he rarely went to the movies. Rather, he preferred to read philosophy, cultural theory, and the classics.3 His first attachment to cinema came from French intellectual André Malraux’s essay “Sketch for a Psychology of the Moving Pictures,” which made connections for him between film, literature, and theater.4 When Godard attended university, he studied under Brice Parain, a French philosopher whose work revolved around linguistics, communism, and existentialism.5 Later, Godard moved into the world of cinema, first as critic, and then as director. Godard would eventually quote Malraux and Parain’s ideas about the linguistic and political possibilities of film in one of his earliest essays “Towards a Political Cinema.”6 It comes as no surprise, then, that Godard’s philosophical and literary training prepared him for a whole new approach to film.

Along with his contemporaries, Godard was one of the key innovators of the French New Wave, a film movement that emerged in the 1950s and 1960s. New Wave directors strayed from traditional film form by experimenting with editing and narrative techniques, giving homage to classic cinema, and using film for social commentary, especially as it applied to the younger generation.7 Many of the New Wave directors were intellectually tied to Cahiers du Cinéma, one of the first journals to analyze film as a serious art form. These filmmakers would later channel their theories and appreciation of cinema into their own movies.8 

In 1960, Godard released his first film, Breathless (À bout de souffle).9 Breathless is most remembered for its use of jump cuts, an editing technique where two shots are filmed from slightly different positions, giving the viewer a fragmented sense of time.10 Long before figures like filmmaker Quentin Tarantino referenced pop culture in his movies, Godard initiated this practice, paying tribute to Hollywood and classical music in all his early films. Godard also relied upon character asides, where characters break the fourth wall and speak directly to the audience.11 This theater technique forces the viewer to participate in the action within the film rather than passively observe it. 

Godard continued to challenge cinematic conventions with his early films, eventually incorporating more experimental techniques into his movies that gave him his signature style. As he became more politically involved, he looked to cultural theorists for aesthetic inspiration and attempted to renovate the language of cinema altogether.12

The Language of Cinema

As film director François Truffaut said, “There is cinema before Godard and cinema after Godard.”13 Before Godard, cinema had a traditional language and narrative structure that moviegoers had come to expect. Godard revolutionized filmmaking by upending the traditional storytelling techniques and cinematic language in the hopes of transforming film into a revolutionary art form.

By the 1960s, Godard believed that the majority of films were formulaic products that promoted consumerism and complacency, not revolutionary consciousness. In making this assessment, he was influenced by the ideas of Frankfurt School theorists Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer’s analyses of the culture industry. Adorno and Horkheimer argued: 

Culture today is infecting everything with sameness. Film, radio, and magazines form a system. Each branch of culture is unanimous within itself and all are unanimous together. Even the aesthetic manifestations of political opposites proclaim the same inflexible rhythm… All mass culture under monopoly is identical… Films and radio no longer need to present themselves as art. The truth that they are nothing but business is used as an ideology to legitimize the trash they intentionally produce.14

Often misunderstood as elitist or pessimistic, Adorno and Horkheimer criticized the ways that the culture industry mass-produced entertainment products for the sole purpose of profit. Mainly, they aspired to understand why the oppressiveness of capitalism did not spur revolution as Marxists before them had hoped. As they argued, the culture industry purposely suppresses people’s inclination to revolt by ensuring they have plenty of consumable products that are both easily pleasurable and familiar. After all, the culture industry is a business—a profit-motivated behemoth—so all products are designed with the intent to maintain the status quo, not stimulate revolutionary thinking.

Regarding Hollywood directors, Adorno and Horkheimer quipped, “Published figures for their directors’ incomes quell any doubts about the social necessity of their finished products.”15 Agreeing with this analysis, Godard accused the film industry of being “capitalism in its purest form,” and he argued that there was “only one solution, and that is to turn one’s back on American cinema.”16 Godard wished to counter this psychological hold by the film industry (or as he called it, “The Hollywood Machine”) with a new cinema that was innovative, challenging, and hopefully, revolutionary.17 To do so, he needed to change the very language of cinema itself.

Godard eventually began referring to his movies as “essays,” saying, “I don’t really like telling a story. I prefer a kind of tapestry, a background on which I can embroider my own ideas.”18 Engaging with the semioticians Claude Lévi-Strauss and Roland Barthes, Godard saw film as a sign system, or as film critic James Hoberman claimed, Godard was “the first filmmaker to perceive film history as a text.”19 This approach is evidenced in the ways that he spliced images with intertitles and dialogue as if he was making a philosophical argument rather than telling a story. However, Godard took issue with some of the prevailing structuralist views on cinema, considering them too rigidly focused on universal symbolism. In one heated debate about semiotics within film, Godard yelled at Barthes, declaiming “We are the children of the language of cinema. Our parents are Griffith, Hawks, Dreyer, Bazin, and Langlois, but not you!”, and questioning whether one can “address structures without sounds and images”.20

In contrast to the films produced by the culture industry, Godard resisted the traditional film language by creating mostly plotless films with emotionless characters, often breaking the fourth wall to conduct a political rant or in dialogue that would be interrupted by the intrusion of unrelated images or voice-over commentaries.21 As film professor Louis Giannetti describes, these tactics remind the viewer that the film is “ideologically weighted” and that the audience “should think rather than feel, analyze the events objectively rather than enter them vicariously.”22 These methods allowed Godard to consider his films as treatises—not just as artistic creations, but as mediums for conveying a grab-bag of aesthetic and theoretical ideas. As English film theorist Peter Wollen explains:

There is no pure cinema, grounded in a single essence, hermetically sealed from contamination. This explains the value of a director like Jean-Luc Godard, who is unafraid to mix Hollywood with Kant and Hegel, Eisensteinian montage with Rossellinian realism, words with images, professional actors with historical people, Lumière with Méliès, the documentary with the iconographic. More than anybody else, Godard has realized the fantastic possibilities of the cinema as a medium of communication and expression. In his hands, as in Peirce’s perfect sign, the cinema has become an almost equal amalgam of the symbolic, the iconic, and the indexical.23

For Godard, the language of cinema could be used as a powerful tool to get across ideological concepts that were more difficult to convey in an established, linear format. The epitome of this shift is seen in La Chinoise, which makes the case against the conventions of bourgeois culture and in favor of a revolutionary culture though dramatic visual fashion. 

For instance, in the film’s second act, Guillaume, one of the militants, stands in front of a chalkboard. On the board are scribbled a couple dozen names of philosophers, writers, filmmakers, and artists. In the background, Kirilov, another militant, lectures on the purpose of art for the communist cause while Guillaume erases each their names one by one: Voltaire, Cocteau, Goethe—each eliminated leaving only one name: Brecht. Kirilov argues that the last century of artistic production has shifted from the creation of art-for-art’s-sake to “art as its own science.”24 Using poet Vladimir Mayakovsky and filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein as examples of those “fighting for a definition of socialist art,” Kirilov asserts that art is no longer merely an attempt to represent reality, but is rather a social and political force that creates or reveals reality, or, as he puts it, “art doesn’t reproduce the visible—it makes visible.”25 

A key premise in Kirilov’s argument is that art is language that effects change or uncovers hidden truths. Those who resist this notion do so under the false pretense that the language of art is incomprehensible. Yet he points out that it is actually society itself that is “hermitic and closed up,” and that traditional political discourse is “the poorest of languages as possible.”26 Drawing upon the ideas presented in The Order of Things, Godard uses Kirilov’s lesson to expound on philosopher Michel Foucault’s concept of the episteme, the body of thought that shapes the knowledge of an era. For Foucault, standard language is wrapped up in the classical episteme, where ideas are subject to taxonomical representations. But the modern episteme embodies new linguistic conventions that transcend older paradigms.27

Take the end of Kirilov’s lecture, for instance. He notes how the formalists demand specific techniques that adhere to long-held artistic rules: “Use only three colors. The three primary colors: blue, yellow, and red. Perfectly pure and perfectly balanced.”28 Godard uses these primary colors heavily in the film, but they are displayed in an ironically unbalanced way as if to blatantly ridicule traditional aesthetic form. Kirilov continues, saying that the aesthetic image is untrustworthy, that one must consider “the position of the seeing eye, the object seen, and the source of light” when evaluating a visual idea.29 Godard, through Kirilov, is applying semiotic language to artistic analysis. Godard focuses not just on the artwork itself, but he also places equal importance on perception. In other words, aesthetic analysis cannot be limited to the art object itself, but must include the perspective of the viewer. And in true Maoist fashion, Kirilov concludes his lecture by paraphrasing the Great Helmsman: “In literature and in art, we must fight on two fronts.”30

The types of arguments made throughout La Chinoise could not be conveyed as effectively through a standard style of filming, which was committed to upholding the dominant ideology. Instead, Godard manipulated the language of cinema to challenge the prerogatives of bourgeois ideology and promote socialist politics.  

Brecht and Socialist Theater 

Politics have always played a role in the theater, but political theater took new form in the twentieth century. Rather than simply remaining an outlet for social commentary, theater became a medium for political action. Communist revolution spurred agitprop within the arts, but this style often made characters flat and unrealistic. Brecht instead created a sophisticated political theater (which he deemed “dialectical theater”) that conveyed Marxist ideas and forced the audience to face the realities presented to them.31 As he noted:

Socialist Realism means realistically reproducing the way people live together by artistic means from a socialist point of view. It is reproduced in such a way as to promote insight into society’s mechanisms and motivate socialist actions. In the case of Socialist Realism, a large part of the pleasure that all art must inspire is pleasure at the possibility of society’s mastering human fate. A Socialist Realist work of art lays bare the dialectical laws of movement of the social mechanism, whose revelation makes the mastering of human fate easier. It provokes pleasure in their recognition and observation. A Socialist Realist work of art shows characters and events as historical and alterable, and as contradictory. This entails a great change; a serious effort has to be made to find new means of representation. A Socialist Realist work of art is based on a working-class viewpoint and appeals to all people of goodwill. It shows them the aims and outlook of the working class, which is trying to raise human productivity to a tremendous extent by transforming society and abolishing exploitation.32

Brecht felt that the classical view of theater as catharsis left the audience complacent and indolent. He wanted the audience to think critically about exploitation, oppression, and class struggle. As opposed to the dramatic techniques of the past, epic theater reminded the viewer that the play is merely a representation of reality rather than reality itself, and thus the reality presented could be changed, making theater a catalyst for revolutionary action.

Godard was strongly influenced by Brecht’s theories and used them in his films, particularly his concept of verfremdungseffekt, or the alienation effect. Brecht described the alienation effect as performing “in such a way that the audience was hindered from simply identifying itself with the characters in the play,” and that the viewer’s “acceptance or rejection of their actions and utterances was meant to take place on a conscious plane, instead of, as hitherto, in the audience’s subconscious.”33

Godard employs the alienation effect frequently in La Chinoise by making his characters speak directly to the audience and juxtaposing seemingly unrelated imagery side-by-side. Take the scene in which Guillaume, after arguing that revolutionaries need “sincerity and violence,” looks directly at the camera and says, “You’re getting a kick out of this. Like I’m joking for the film because of all the technicians here. But that’s not it. It’s not because of a camera. I’m sincere.”34 Guillaume continues to address the viewer by explaining what “socialist theater” is by telling a story about Chinese students protesting in Moscow. In this story, one student approached the Western reporters with his face covered in bandages, yelling, “Look what they did to me! Look what the dirty revisionists did!” When the students removed the bandage, the reporters eagerly awaited a cut-up face of which to take sensationalist photos. But when the bandages were removed and the student’s face was fine, the reporters became angry saying, “This Chinaman’s a fake! He’s a clown! What is this?!” But the reporters did not realize the significance of the demonstration. Guillaume explains: “They hadn’t understood. They didn’t realize it was theater. Real theater. Reflection on reality. Like Brecht or Shakespeare.”35

Godard also applied Brecht’s theories on theater by either confronting the audience directly or interrupting the natural narrative flow. In one instance, Godard turns the camera directly on the viewer, creating an uneasy sense of self-reflexivity as if it is the viewer who is being filmed and questioned. As writer Susan Sontag claimed, this tactic was Godard’s way of “effectively bridging the difference between first-person and third-person narration.”36 Additionally, most scenes in La Chinoise layer seemingly unrelated images on top of one another, forcing the audience to critically examine their meaning. For example, one scene shows a decrepit Christ statue against the recurring motif of a shelf displaying Mao’s Little Red Books while a disembodied voice pleas, “God, why have you forsaken me?” only to be answered by another faceless voice: “Because I don’t exist.”37 In another instance, Guillaume lectures on the importance of “seeing the inherent contradictions” in analyses of the revolutionary situation, while the camera focuses on Véronique, copy of Peking Information in hand, against a background of fashion magazine advertisements. This tactic of juxtaposing rebellious youth against culture industry images was used frequently by Godard as a way to demonstrate the contradictory nature of student activists during the 1960s — or as he called them, “the children of Marx and Coca-Cola.”38

Another technique Brecht used was interrupting his plays with seemingly unconnected songs or stage directions. Godard took up this approach as well, often placing intertitles or music unexpectedly in the middle of scenes. Consider the scene where Véronique intensely studies Maoist theory as the radio plays a satirical pop song with the lyrics “Johnson giggles and me I wiggle Mao Mao,” or the way that Godard inserts a Baroque concerto in between discussions about revolutionizing old art forms.39 Brecht and Godard both understood the power of contrast in political imagery, and they compelled their audiences to find connections amidst the contradictions. 

Consider too the various scenes within the film where Véronique and Yvonne act out skits about American imperialism or the Vietnam War. These miniature plays-within-a-play at once parody both the contemporary events being acted out and the actions of the characters themselves. These scenes were also Godard’s way of employing the Brechtian technique of spass, literally translated as “fun.”40 By including comedic bits in between serious political rhetoric, making sense of the commentary is left up to the audience. In other words, Godard makes the audience work for their understanding of the ideas rather than passively absorbing them. 

Godard’s attempt to make La Chinoise his version of socialist theater is most realized in the larger story itself. The film is loosely based on Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Demons, which follows five disgruntled radicals who plot to overthrow the Russian regime through insurrectionary violence. The radicals hold meetings to flesh out their various ideological positions, yet these gatherings often turn into pissing contests or merely the recitation of empty platitudes.41 Dostoevsky suggests that the radicals are idealistic and hubristic, and that revolution will inevitably fail. 

It is curious, then, that Godard would choose this story as the basis for La Chinoise. Dostoevsky’s critiques stemmed from a conservative position, yet Godard was a staunch Marxist (from 1968 onward) and a strong supporter of revolutionary student movements. Throughout the film, the characters are portrayed as being serious in their objectives but also childish in their approach. One could deduce that Godard intended this foundational storyline as a warning: revolution is indeed necessary, but it requires discipline and maturity. 

Godard’s innovations in cinema reflected his desire to make the screen a vehicle for socialist politics. As his personal politics continued to move leftward, his filmmaking became increasingly political as well. For Godard, the cinema was more than just an art form—it was becoming for him a mode for revolutionary action.

Dare to Struggle, Dare to Win

a. Power to the Imagination

It was not just Brecht who informed Godard’s ideas, but those of Mao. Like the characters in La Chinoise, Godard was caught up in a Maoist revolutionary fever that was shared by many French intellectuals and students during the 1960s.42 Godard’s Maoist commitment went beyond cinema. Three years after the film was released, Godard was involved in the French Maoist movement. When the Maoist publication La Cause du Peuple was banned by the French government and its editors in the spring of 1970, Godard helped to collate the paper while the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre took over as editor. Godard was willing to risk arrest in service of the revolutionary cause. 


According to Maoist philosopher Alain Badiou, this period was a “red decade” that

stemmed from the intellectual effect of the Sino–Soviet ideological conflict and the Cultural Revolution, and was followed decisively by the events of May 1968 and their aftermath. Its watchwords were those of Maoism: direct joining of forces by intellectuals and mass workers; ‘it is correct to revolt’; ‘down with the bourgeois university’; ‘down with the PCF revisionists’; creations of autonomous organisations in the factories against the official unions; defensive revolutionary violence in the streets against the police; elections, betrayal; and so on. Everyday life was entirely politicised; daily activism was the done thing.43

Indeed, revolution truly seemed to be in the air.

However, in an ironic twist, this new French adherence to Maoism and the Chinese Revolution was coupled with a profound ignorance of its practice in the East. When it came to the reality of Maoism in China, most French radicals preferred viewing the experience through rose-colored glasses.44 As historian Richard Wolin observed, for French radicals, “Cultural Revolutionary China became a projection screen, a Rorschach test, for their innermost radical political hopes and fantasies, which in de Gaulle’s France had been deprived of a real-world outlet. China became the embodiment of a ‘radiant utopian future.’”45 

In other words, for many French leftists, the importance of Maoism was its myth. For example, the Maoist activist Emmanuel Terray recognizes that his comrades embraced a myth, but does not disavow his political past:

I was like many others a fervent partisan—from France—of the Cultural Revolution. But I don’t consider this to be a regrettable youthful error about which it would be better to be silent today, or, on the other hand, to make an ostentatious confession. I know today, of course, that the Cultural Revolution we dreamt about and that inspired part of our political practice didn’t have much in common with the Cultural Revolution as it was lived out in China. And yet I am not ready to put my former admiration into the category of a mental aberration. In fact, the symbolic power of Maoist China operated in Europe at the end of the sixties independently of Chinese reality as such. “Our” Cultural Revolution was very far from that, but it had the weight and the consistency of those collective representations that sociology and anthropology have studied for so long.46

Similar to Terray and other French Maoists, Godard’s Maoism was not so much about the reality on the ground in China, but rather acted as a mobilizing myth to inspire and formulate a new revolutionary, democratic, and egalitarian politics.

b. The Stormcenters of Revolution

By the mid-1960s, it is no accident that Godard looked to Mao Zedong, the Chinese Revolution, and the Third World as a source of inspiration. For a generation of young revolutionaries, like the Maoists portrayed in La Chinoise, the Algerian War was a watershed event that proved both the French Communist Party and the USSR were insufficiently anti-imperialist.

From 1954 to 1962, France fought a brutal war against the National Liberation Front (FLN) in Algeria, which was characterized by guerrilla warfare, terrorism, and the widespread use of torture by the French Army.47 The war brought down the Fourth Republic, led to the return of Charles de Gaulle to power, and brought France to the brink of civil war. According to Marie-Noelle Thibault: 

The Algerian War opened the eyes of a whole generation and was largely responsible for molding it. The deep horror felt at the atrocities of the colonial war led us to a simple fact: democracies are imperialist countries too. The most important feature [was that] political action, including support for national liberation struggles, was conceived of as a mass movement.48 

No doubt the Algerian War shaped the anti-imperialist worldview of future Maoist cadre.

The Maoists would have been familiar with the behavior of the French Communist Party (PCF) during the war. When the war began, the PCF offered only tepid solidarity to Algeria, preferring a negotiated settlement and condemning the actions of the FLN as terrorism. Two years later, the PCF voted in favor of granting emergency powers to the government, which allowed France to send troops to Algeria. Eventually, the PCF came around to supporting Algerian independence, but their support was lukewarm and half-hearted at best. The PCF position on Algeria gave the Maoists in La Chinoise plenty of ammunition for denouncing the party as revisionist.

This gulf between the PCF and the French Maoists is vividly on display in La Chinoise. When Henri defends the PCF line of a peaceful transition to socialism and defense of the USSR, he is denounced and heckled by his comrades as a counterrevolutionary and a revisionist. Eventually, Henri is driven from their cell. To the Maoists, there could be no peaceful coexistence under the same roof between revolutionaries and revisionists. They remembered how the PCF and USSR failed to support the struggle in Algeria and to intervene in the then- ongoing Vietnam conflict.

The PCF’s caution on Algeria opened up space for a new generation of leftists or “gauchists” to lead opposition to the war. These gauchists ranged from future Maoists, Trotskyists, and independent leftists such as Sartre and Francis Jeanson (who played himself in La Chinoise, debating political violence with Véronique, acted by real-life student Anne Wiazemsky). These gauchists encouraged draft resistance in the French army, passed out leaflets in support of the FLN, and conducted mass demonstrations that were met with violence. Some, such as Jeanson and the Trotskyists, went further by smuggling arms and funds to the FLN.49 To the PCF, the leftists’ actions were beyond the pale, and the party 

rejected the “harmful” attitudes of gauchiste [leftist] elements who had preached insubordination, desertion, and rejection of the very fundamentals of the national community and the national interest of the working class in peace. Their irresponsible actions, the party argued in 1962 and in 1968, had only served to assist the policies and the provocations of the Gaullist regime and the ultras.50 

During the Cultural Revolution, when Mao asked where the capitalist roaders were located, he answered: in the Communist Party. Many French Maoists saw this warning confirmed in the PCF’s behavior,  as they played an increasingly bourgeois role (whether during the Algerian War, or in 1968, when the party stood with the French state against a student-worker general strike).

Unlike the PCF, who saw themselves as French communists and defenders of the republican tradition, the reality of the Algerian War spotlighted for the far left the hypocrisy between France’s official humanist and universalist proclamations of liberté, égalité, fraternité, and the reality of colonialism. As Sartre eloquently put it in his preface to Frantz Fanon’s Wretch of the Earth:

First, we must face that unexpected revelation, the strip-tease of our humanism. There you can see it, quite naked, and it’s not a pretty sight. It was nothing but an ideology of lies, a perfect justification for pillage; its honeyed words, its affectation of sensibility were only alibis for our aggressions. A fine sight they are too, the believers in non-violence, saying that they are neither executioners nor victims. Very well then; if you’re not victims when the government which you’ve voted for, when the army in which your younger brothers are serving without hesitation or remorse have undertaken race murder, you are, without a shadow of doubt, executioners. And if you chose to be victims and to risk being put in prison for a day or two, you are simply choosing to pull your irons out of the fire. But you will not be able to pull them out; they’ll have to stay there till the end. Try to understand this at any rate: if violence began this very evening and if exploitation and oppression had never existed on the earth, perhaps the slogans of non-violence might end the quarrel. But if the whole regime, even your non-violent ideas, are conditioned by a thousand-year-old oppression, your passivity serves only to place you in the ranks of the oppressors.51

Once the Algerian war ended, this experience shaped a new generation of leftists (including future Maoists) in understanding the connection between anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism. By the mid-1960s, the Third World appeared to many leftists to be a “storm center of revolution” with anti-imperialist movements, often led by Marxists, leading struggles in Asia, Latin America, the Middle East, and Africa. To the Maoists in La Chinoise, the following expression of Mao would have seemed a simple statement of fact: 

There are two winds in the world today, the East Wind and the West Wind. There is a Chinese saying: “Either the East Wind prevails over the West Wind or the West Wind prevails over the East Wind.” I believe it is characteristic of the situation today that the East Wind is prevailing over the West Wind. That is to say, the forces of socialism have become overwhelmingly superior to the forces of imperialism.52

Vietnam was like Algeria—a small David defying the American imperialist Goliath. The victory of the Vietnamese could only enhance the prospects for world revolution, so their struggle, like that of Algeria, must be supported. In La Chinoise, the Maoists recognized the progressive character of the Vietnamese struggle by repeating a quotation from Mao: “All wars that are progressive are just, and all wars that impede progress are unjust. We communists oppose all unjust wars that impede progress, but we do not oppose progressive, just wars.”53

In the film, the characters note the different response of the Soviet Union and China to the Vietnam War. In this disparity, the Maoists believe they see what separates the real communists from the revisionists. As Guillaume notes in a lecture devoted to the Vietnam War, the Soviet Union is not supporting the Vietnamese, but is more interested in making deals with the United States. He believes this proves that 

there are two types of communisms. A dangerous one, and one not dangerous. A communism Johnson must fight, and one he holds out his hands to. And why is one of them no longer dangerous? Because it has changed. The Americans haven’t. They’re an imperialist power. Since they haven’t changed, then it’s the others who’ve changed. The Russians and their friends have become revisionists that the Americans can get on with, while the real communists that haven’t changed need to be kicked in the face. That’s what Vietnam’s about. Whether intentionally or not, both the Russians and Americans are fighting the real communists, in China. That’s the general conclusion.54

While Vietnam, like Cuba, was a source of inspiration and action for sixties leftists, they remained firmly allied to Moscow. By contrast, China and Maoism openly challenged the Soviet Union for leadership over the international communist movement by presenting a revolutionary alternative. In contrast to the Soviet line of upholding the international status quo, the Chinese preached that there could be no “peaceful coexistence with imperialism” (though in actuality, Chinese foreign policy was more characterized by cynical realpolitik):

It is one thing to practice peaceful coexistence between countries with different social systems. It is absolutely impermissible and impossible for countries practicing peaceful coexistence to touch even a hair of each other’s social system. The class struggle, the struggle for national liberation and the transition from capitalism to socialism in various countries are quite another. thing. They are all bitter, life-and-death revolutionary struggles which aim at changing the social system. Peaceful coexistence cannot replace the revolutionary struggles of the people. The transition from capitalism to socialism in any country can only be brought about through the proletarian revolution and the dictatorship of the proletariat in that country.55

The appeal of Maoism was not only that Mao was anti-colonialist and anti-imperialist, but because the Chinese Revolution appeared to offer a living example of renewing communism compared to the exhausted Soviet model. Maoism also offered a coherent worldview that linked anti-imperialism with anti-capitalism, showing that all are involved in the same struggle against imperialism, whether in France, Algeria, or Vietnam.

The Maoist call for revolutionary struggle against imperialism—as opposed to cutting deals—found receptive ears among communists throughout the world, including the students in La Chinoise. In fact, the response of French leftists to the Vietnam War appeared to follow the same pattern as during the Algerian War. The PCF anti-war group Mouvement de la Paix presented uninspiring slogans of “Peace in Vietnam,” while conducting no militant work in the factories, the schools, or the streets. It seemed more concerned with maintaining its respectable image and winning votes than effectively opposing the Vietnam War. By contrast, the Maoist UJC (M-L), who organized around Comite Vietnam de base, openly called for “FNL Vaincra” (“Victory for the Vietnamese Liberation Front”). More than their respective slogans, the Maoist anti-war movement conducted a very different politics than the PCF by undertaking direct action and organizing not only on the campuses, but in the streets, outside the factories, and in immigrant neighborhoods.56

In the film, there is a sharp contrast between the Soviet and Maoist positions on Vietnam. While Guillaume delivers his lecture, Yvonne is dressed as a bloodied Vietnamese peasant who is being attacked by toy American planes. She cries out in despair for help to the USSR: “Help, help, Mr. Kosygin!” (Aleksej Kosygin was then one of the leaders of the Soviet Union). No help comes. By contrast, the Maoist position is dramatically symbolized by throwing dozens of Red Books to knock over a toy American tank.57

c. The Althusser Encounter

It was not just Third World Revolution and China’s challenge to Soviet hegemony among communists that Godard portrayed in La Chinoise. He was also interested in the revolutionary and intellectual fervent that was beginning to be felt among French students in the shape of Maoism. La Chinoise foretold the student radicalism and Maoism that was brewing before the explosion of May 1968, only a year after the film’s release.58

In 1966, Anne Wiazemsky (the actress who played Véronique and Godard’s romantic interest at the time) was a student at Nanterre, which was located in a working-class neighborhood that was a hotbed of leftist activism. Godard met Véronique’s leftist friends and professors (including Francis Jeanson, who subsequently appeared as himself in La Chinoise), but he wanted to meet the most dynamic of them, who were cloistered around the Maoist journal Cahiers Marxistes-Léninistes (featured prominently in the film), located at the prestigious École normale supérieure (ENS).

A contact was arranged with Godard by Yvonne Baby (her father was a leading Communist Party member expelled for Maoism), a film critic at Le Monde. One of Baby’s colleagues was Jean-Pierre Gorin, a literary critic who happened to have gone to school with the student Maoists. Upon meeting Gorin, Godard informed him that he wished to make a film on the French Maoists. Gorin seemed interested enough, and he began meeting regularly with Godard. Later, Gorin introduced Godard to the Maoists at ENS. Among their leaders was Robert Linhart, who had been expelled from the communist student group and was a former student of Louis Althusser.59

Louis Althusser was a Communist Party member, a quiet critic of the party line, and a professor at ENS. He published For Marx and Reading Capital in 1965, propelling him into intellectual stardom. While Althusser was a leading communist theorist, he was also a subdued critic of the party’s reformist line and a Maoist sympathizer. Godard himself took Althusser’s ideas seriously since they informed the worldview of the Maoist militants at the center of La Chinoise. As a result, La Chinoise’s Maoism possesses a distinctive Althusserian tinge, placing emphasis on the necessity of ideological and theoretical struggle.

Partway through the film, the young Maoists gather for a forum on the “Prospects for the European left.” Presiding over the event is a guest speaker named Omar Diop, the only authentic Maoist revolutionary to appear in La Chinoise. Diop would later work closely with May ‘68 student leader Daniel Cohn-Bendit, and eventually was arrested and probably murdered by the Senegalese authorities in May 1973. 

In the scene, Omar stands by the lectern and addresses the Maoists. He says that that the death of Stalin 

has given us the right to make a precise accounting of what we possess, to call by their correct names both our riches and our predicament, to think and argue out loud about our problems, and to engage in the rigors of real research. This moment has allowed us to emerge from our theoretical provincialism, to recognize and engage with the existence of others outside ourselves. And on connecting with this outer world, to begin to see ourselves better. It has allowed us to develop an honest self-appraisal by laying bare where we stand in regard to the knowledge and ignorance of Marxism. Any questions?60

Omar’s speech is, in fact, a close paraphrase from Althusser’s introduction to For Marx.61 The death of Stalin and his subsequent denunciation by Nikita Khrushchev in 1956 had caused a crisis in the international communist movement.62 Althusser argued that Stalin had “snuffed out not only thousands upon thousands of lives, but also, for a long time, if not forever, the theoretical existence of a whole series of major problems,” eliminating “from the field of Marxist research and discovery questions that fell by rights to the province of Marxism.”63 

According to Althusser, bourgeois ideologies like humanism filled the theoretical void that remained after the death of Stalin. By adopting humanism, Althusser argued that communists were 

following the Social-Democrats and even religious thinkers (who used to have an almost guaranteed monopoly in these things) in the practice of exploiting the works of Marx’s youth in order to draw out of them an ideology of Man, Liberty, Alienation, Transcendence, etc.—without asking whether the system of these notions was idealist or materialist, whether this ideology was petty-bourgeois or proletarian.64

The political effect of theoretical humanism among Marxists was the promotion of the peaceful transition to socialism, which justified class collaboration and a rapprochement with social democracy. This theoretical humanism was something eagerly embraced by the PCF since it provided a justification for their reformist politics (and ferociously rejected by the Maoists in La Chinoise).

Contrary to the PCF, Althusser argued that Marxists who were beholden to humanism were incapable of providing a viable scientific basis for Marxism. Althusser believed that it was the mission of Marxists such as himself to provide that theoretical and scientific foundation. One source that Althusser utilized in that task was Mao’s writings on dialectics, especially the distinction between primary and secondary contradictions, found in his 1937 work, On Contradiction.65 Here, Mao argued that every situation is characterized by many contradictions, but that at any time, “there is only one principal contradiction which plays the leading role.”66 Under capitalism, the principal contradiction in capitalism is between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie, and other contradictions, such as between imperialism and colonized peoples, were secondary. Furthermore, the proletariat was the principal aspect of the contradiction, which would eventually triumph over the bourgeoisie. However, since reality is dynamic, contradictions develop unevenly and dynamically, and thus contradictions and their aspects often shifted, rather than being pinned in place. In connection with this Mao emphasized that 

at every stage in the development of a process, there is only one principal contradiction which plays the leading role… Therefore, in studying any complex process in which there are two or more contradictions, we must devote every effort to funding its principal contradiction. Once this principal contradiction is grasped, all problems can be readily solved.67

The concrete lesson that Althusser drew from Maoist dialectics was the need for a conjunctural analysis, defined as the present moment that is made up of a combination of the social contradictions and the balance of class forces. According to Althusser, an investigation of a conjuncture needs to take into “account of all the determinations, all the existing concrete circumstances, making an inventory, a detailed breakdown and comparison of them.”68 A conjunctural analysis is an inventory of the relations between classes, social contradictions, and the role of the state. However, a conjunctural analysis not a neutral research project, but according to Louis Althusser, it “poses the political problem and indicates its historical solution, ipso facto rendering it a political objective, a practical task.”69 Mao and Althusser’s theory of contradictions and their mobile nature meant careful investigation was needed to determine when to act and what appropriate strategies were to be pursued. As Véronique, Henri, Guillaume explain to Yvonne: 

Because an analysis of a specific situation, as Lenin says, is the essential… the soul of Marxism… It’s seeing the inherent contradictions… Because things are complicated by determining factors. Yes, Marx, Engels, Lenin and Stalin teach us to carefully study the situation very conscientiously. Starting from objective reality, not from our subjective desires… We must examine the different aspects, not just one.70

The Maoists of La Chinoise share Althusser’s rejection of the PCF, coupled with the conviction that Marxism should be understood as a practice—a guide to action and not a dogma. While their approach to investigation is often stilted and repeated by rote, the young revolutionaries are faithful to the Maoist approach of investigation. They draw truth from facts, replace vague ideas with clear images, discover the link between things and phenomena, ask what the relation is between different contradictions, discuss the weight of internal and external factors, and analyze the relation between objective and subjective factors in order to make a conjunctural analysis to advance the revolutionary cause. As Guillaume says while aiming his arrow: “How to unite Marxist-Leninist theory and the practice of revolution? There’s a well-known saying: It’s like shooting at a target. Just like aiming at the target, Marxism-Leninism must aim at revolution.”71

d. Politicization of Culture

Throughout La Chinoise, Godard defends the view that a socialist revolution in an age of mass culture and capitalist affluence requires the politicization of culture. Naturally, Godard turns to Mao Zedong, who was concerned with the role of cultural politics in raising political consciousness amongst the masses. According to Mao, intellectuals and youth must politicize culture both before and after the revolution — particularly after, when a cultural revolution is needed against the compulsion of bourgeois culture which, if left unchecked, can lead to capitalist restoration.

The foundation of Mao’s views on culture can be found in On Contradiction, particularly his understanding of the different contradictions. Following his theory of shifting contradictions, Mao argued against the reigning Stalinist orthodoxy and mechanical materialism that reduced culture to the economic base. Instead, Mao argued that true Marxism recognized that the ideological superstructure could play a paramount role in impacting the economic base: “But it must also be admitted that in certain conditions… the creation and advocacy of revolutionary theory plays the principal and decisive role.”72 According to Mao’s Marxism, it was indeed possible for culture to take precedence over economics.

Mao fleshed out his cultural views during the 1942 Talks at the Yenan Forum on Literature and Art. Here, he argued against “art for art’s sake,” and instead opted for the politicization of culture, suggesting that intellectuals must use it as a weapon against the bourgeoisie:

If we had no literature and art even in the broadest and most ordinary sense, we could not carry on the revolutionary movement and win victory. Failure to recognize this is wrong. Furthermore, when we say that literature and art are subordinate to politics, we mean class politics, the politics of the masses, not the politics of a few so-called statesmen. Politics, whether revolutionary or counter-revolutionary, is the struggle of class against class, not the activity of a few individuals. The revolutionary struggle on the ideological and artistic fronts must be subordinate to the political struggle because only through politics can the needs of the class and the masses find expression in concentrated form.73

It cannot be emphasized enough that, for Mao, the politicization of culture was considered essential for a communist victory. So how were intellectuals to play their proper role in the class struggle? For one, intellectuals need to shed their traditional habits of subservience to the ideas of the ruling class and stand with the people. However, it was not enough for intellectuals to merely speak about popular struggles, but in order to effectively convey those struggles, they had to adopt new forms of expression by making their ideas accessible. 

In order to accomplish this goal, intellectuals and cultural workers could not just represent the masses in art and literature. They had to take an active part in their struggles by living among them. According to Mao, intellectuals must embrace a “mass style” and learn 

the thoughts and feelings of our writers and artists should be fused with those of the masses of workers, peasants and soldiers. To achieve this fusion, they should conscientiously learn the language of the masses. How can you talk of literary and artistic creation if you find the very language of the masses largely incomprehensible?… If our writers and artists who come from the intelligentsia want their works to be well received by the masses, they must change and remould their thinking and their feelings. Without such a change, without such remoulding, they can do nothing well and will be misfits.74

This was precisely what happened during the Yenan period when intellectuals flocked to the communist base area in order to fight and work alongside millions of ordinary people against the Japanese and for a new society. This was a clear example of the fusion of large segments of Chinese intelligentsia with the masses, an intelligentsia who were traditionally elitist, prided themselves on not performing manual labor, and disdained the peasantry (since entering communist-held territory meant risking imprisonment and death). While Mao’s theory of subordinating culture to politics can easily lead to abuse (as ended up being the case), there can be no doubt that it was effective as a tool of mass mobilization during the Chinese Revolution.75

The Maoist understanding of culture and intellectualism is prevalent throughout La Chinoise, most symbolically in the name of the Maoist collective: Aden Arabie. The name of the collective was taken from the title of the most famous novel by communist Paul Nizan. Aden, Arabie is a semi-autobiographical story of a man who attempts to escape the suffocation of bourgeois life in France by traveling to the Middle East. Instead of liberation, he discovers that oppression exists there too. Ultimately there was no escape from the forces that crush humanity, but they must be fought without mercy or pity. As Nizan himself said: 

There is nothing noble about this war. The adversaries in it are not equals: it is a struggle in which you will despise your enemies, you who want to be men. Will you be forever sitting at your catechism? You will have to refuse them a glass of water when they are dying: they pay notaries and priests to attend them in death… I will no longer be afraid to hate. I will no longer be ashamed to be fanatic. I owe them the worst: they all but destroyed me.76

Nizan understood the reality of class struggle, and that one had to firmly choose sides and see that commitment through to the end. 

For Maoists, Nizan was a kindred spirit since he was someone who took up his pen in the service of the revolution.77 As Sartre noted: 

But now was the time to slash. It would be up to other men to sew the pieces together again. His was the pleasure of cheerfully ripping everything to shreds for the good of humanity. Everything suddenly took on weight, even words. He distrusted words, because they served bad masters, but everything changed when he was able to turn them against the enemy.78 

Nizan’s works were largely forgotten after his death, but they were rescued from oblivion in 1960 when Aden, Arabie was republished with an explosive preface by Sartre, selling twenty-four thousand copies upon its release.79 Sartre’s preface not only lifted Nizan’s reputation from purgatory, but presented an image of a rebellious, potent, and ferocious figure—all very in tune with the times. “[Nizan] issued a call to arms, to hatred. Class against class. With a patient and mortal enemy there can be no compromise: kill or be killed, there is nothing in between.”80

e. Proletarianizing the Intellectuals 

Like Nizan, the majority of the Maoists in La Chinoise come from intellectual and affluent backgrounds. Véronique is a philosophy student at the University of Paris-Nanterre and her boyfriend Guillaume is an actor. Serge Kirilov is a painter. Only two have proletarian credentials: Henri is a chemist, and his partner Yvonne is a young woman from the countryside. However, the cells largely live as bourgeois bohemians in an apartment borrowed from Véronique’s bourgeois relatives for the summer of 1967.

The characters spend their days studying Marxist texts, delivering lectures to each other, and figuring out how they can apply Maoism in order to make revolution. The atmosphere in the cell has an almost surreal quality; mornings are spent doing calisthenics to the chants of Maoist slogans, and revolutionary culture is calmly discussed in the evening while sipping tea from fine china. Classes and discussions are regularly held with guest speakers on a variety of topics, not unlike a revolutionary university. Although much of this display is comical and satirical, Godard’s portrayal of the Maoist cell is one of youthful rebels excited by the discovery of Marxist ideas and wedded to a newfound stridency that marked the times.

However, Aden Arabie is not a model of egalitarian relations. Despite the Maoist dictum that “women hold up half the sky,” Yvonne functions largely as the group’s maid. She brings her comrades tea, cleans the windows, and polishes their shoes. Yvonne even prostitutes on the side when the others cannot bring in money. While Véronique and Guillaume have a relatively sophisticated understanding of Maoist theory, Yvonne struggles with comprehending theory to a much greater extent than her comrades. Yvonne is isolated from the others during lectures and discussions, often residing in the background where she does menial chores that occupy her attention. For all of Aden Arabie’s calls about solidarity with the working class, the irony is that they are unable to connect with their own working-class roommate.

Despite the Maoists’ claim to be promoting a working-class culture that breaks with old values, their erstwhile comrade Henri still retains his bourgeois tastes (as demonstrated by his love of the Nicholas Ray film Johnny Guitar). Henri is the most pragmatic member of the group, the only cell member to vote against the creation of a new organization dedicated exclusively to combat through armed struggle and terror. This causes Henri to leave by himself, failing to take Yvonne with him. After leaving Aden Arabie, Godard spends a long time interviewing Henri, who makes many artful comments on the group as “too fanatical” and lacking concern with more practical issues (something expressed visually by him buttering his toast).81 Considering his pragmatic nature, Henri plans to join the French Communist Party once he has work in Besancon, or maybe East Germany. Henri’s character demonstrates the gap between the abstract rhetoric of Maoists and the concrete needs of non-revolutionary workers. Coincidentally, Henri himself resembles Ivan Shatov in Demons, whose character also deserted his leftist ideals.

It would be easy to ascribe the failure of the Aden Arabie cell as the fault of patronizing intellectuals unconcerned with the needs of the working class. An easy solution would be to say that the Maoists simply needed to dispense with intellectuals in favor of workers. However, all revolutionary movements need intellectuals—people with skills and training to develop a comprehensive critical analysis of a complex society and what its transformation entails. 

Acknowledging this role for intellectuals is not denying agency from the oppressed, but rather, it recognizes that they play a vital role in constituting a fully formed collective revolutionary subject. Whether Marx, Lenin, or the Maoists of Aden Arabie, history has shown that intellectuals from the petty-bourgeois and even the ruling class can devote themselves to the cause of the oppressed, and they are critical to the initial formation of revolutionary organizations. For intellectuals who join the revolutionary movement, their choice entails enormous self-sacrifice and they must commit “class suicide” if they are to stay faithful to the goal of liberating working class. This requires a mutually transformative process of fusion of the ideas from the revolutionary intelligentsia with the working-class movement. The failed attempts do not negate this necessary step. Véronique herself recognizes her estrangement from the workers and the need to overcome it going forward: “I know I am cut off from the workers. After all, my family are bankers. I’ve always lived with them. None of that’s very clear. That’s exactly why I keep on studying to understand first and then to change, and then formulate a theory.”82

While Godard’s La Chinoise was hailed for prophesying the burgeoning French Maoist movement that came into its own during the early 1970s, he was wrong in seeing a turn to armed struggle as the natural outcome of this radicalism (as did occur elsewhere in the sixties). After the student protests of 1968, thousands of student Maoists abandoned the universities and libraries and went to work with immigrants, shantytown dwellers, and rank-and-file factory workers. Their proletarianization became a rite of passage and self-sacrifice whereby Maoists could prove their revolutionary credentials, shed their bourgeois origins, and gain acceptance by the people. Maoist missionaries who had never previously performed manual labor had a difficult time adjusting to their new roles as workers. If revolutionary politics is to prove long-lasting, then this required undertaking the long and patient work of “educating the educators” and going to the people.83

However, the strategy that the Aden Arabie cadre formulate is not to proletarianize themselves, but to close the universities through terror. Their armed actions resemble more individualistic acts of desperation than mass struggle called for by their own theory. A lengthy scene between Véronique (who is actually receiving her lines from Godard through an earpiece) and Francis Jeanson shows that the Maoists have no coherent strategy—their violence is divorced from the masses of working people, and they are attempting to invent a revolution through an act of will. Jeanson rightfully predicts their outcome: “You’re heading towards a dead-end.”84 In fact, that is precisely what happens. The assassination of the commissar leads to the death of an innocent bystander and causes their comrade Kirilov to take his own life. In the end, the armed campaign ends in a fiasco.

The ending of the film presents an ambiguous message. While Aden Arabie dissolves and the Maoists go their separate ways, revolutionary politics are not necessarily abandoned. As Véronique says: “A struggle for me and some comrades. On the other hand, I was wrong. I thought I’d made a leap forward. And I realized I’d made only the first timid step of a long march.”85 As evidenced by real life as much as in La Chinoise, the challenge of proletarianizing intellectuals, building a mass base, and finding the appropriate tactics for revolution is easier said than done.

f. Cultural Revolution

For Mao, the political role of culture only increased after the communist seizure of power in 1949. Mao argued that even though the old ruling classes were overthrown, the contradictions of socialism gave rise to new bourgeois elements. Despite the seizure of power and the establishment of a new economic base, class struggle continued:

In China, although socialist transformation has in the main been completed as regards the system of ownership, and although the large-scale, turbulent class struggles of the masses characteristic of times of revolution have in the main come to an end, there are still remnants of the overthrown landlord and comprador classes, there is still a bourgeoisie, and the remolding of the petty bourgeoisie has only just started. Class struggle is by no means over… The proletariat seeks to transform the world according to its own world outlook, and so does the bourgeoisie. In this respect, the question of which will win out, socialism or capitalism, is not really settled yet.86

Following his earlier writings, Mao argued that the superstructure did not automatically change in response to the base, but there was a considerable lag as the old culture hangs on.

As time wore on, Mao recognized that those in the Chinese party and state who sought a return to capitalism needed to be combated. This culminated in the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (as it was officially known), which launched in May 1966. The purpose of the Cultural Revolution was described in its opening manifesto as follows:

Although the bourgeoisie has been overthrown, it is still trying to use the old ideas, culture, customs and habits of the exploiting classes to corrupt the masses, capture their minds and endeavor to stage a comeback. The proletariat must do the exact opposite: it must meet head-on every challenge of the bourgeoisie in the ideological field and use the new ideas, culture, customs and habits of the proletariat to change the mental outlook of the whole of society. At present, our objective is to struggle against and overthrow those persons in authority who are taking the capitalist road, to criticize and repudiate the reactionary bourgeois academic “authorities” and the ideology of the bourgeoisie and all other exploiting classes and to transform education, literature and art and all other parts of the superstructure not in correspondence with the socialist economic base, so as to facilitate the consolidation and development of the socialist system.87

The Cultural Revolution was the culmination of Mao’s politicization of culture. The struggle on the cultural front would prove decisive in the proletariat’s battle against revisionism, and it would keep China on the socialist road.

Communists in France took note. Althusser, writing an anonymous article in Maoist Cahiers Marxistes-Léniniste (displayed prominently in La Chinoise) in November/December 1966 claimed that the Cultural Revolution was an “unprecedented” and “exceptional historical fact” that demanded a deep reflection on “Marxist theoretical principles.”88 Several years later, Althusser would go so far as to claim that the Cultural Revolution overcame the exhaustion of the Soviet model because it was 

the only historically existing (left) “critique” of the fundamentals of the “Stalinian deviation” to be found—and which, moreover, is contemporary with this very deviation, and thus for the most part precedes the Twentieth Congress—is a concrete critique, one which exists in the facts, in the struggle, in the line, in the practices, their principles and their forms, of the Chinese Revolution. A silent critique, which speaks through its actions, the result of the political and ideological struggles of the Revolution, from the Long March to the Cultural Revolution and its results.89

Indeed, the impact of the Cultural Revolution was felt far beyond China, something acknowledged in La Chinoise by Véronique, who quoted Althusser: “Exporting cultural revolt is impossible, as it belongs to China. But the theoretical lessons belong to all.”90

When it came to carrying out the Cultural Revolution, Althusser argued that students played a vanguard role:  

At the same time, the C.C.P. declares that these are mass youth organizations, principally urban youth, therefore made up for the most part of high school and university students, and that they are currently the vanguard of the movement. It is a factual state of affairs, but its political importance is clear. On the one hand, in fact, the teaching system in place for the education of the youth (we should not forget that school deeply marks men, even during periods of historical mutation), was in China a bastion of bourgeois and petit-bourgeois ideology. On the other hand, the youth, which has not experienced revolutionary struggles and wars, constitutes, in a socialist country, a very delicate matter, a place where the future is in large part played out.91

The appeal of the vanguard role of students held an obvious appeal to not only Chinese Red Guards, but Althusser’s disciples and the Maoists of Aden Arabie.

According to Althusser, what was unprecedented about the Cultural Revolution was its recognition that “the ideological can become the strategic point at which everything gets decided. It is, then, in the ideological sphere that the crossroads is located. The future depends on the ideological. It is in the ideological class struggle that the fate (progress or regression) of a socialist country is played out.”92 For Althusser, the Cultural Revolution showed that “class struggle can continue quite virulently at the political level, and above all the ideological level, long after the more or less complete suppression of the economic bases of the property-owning classes in a socialist country.”93

Therefore, it is fitting that the one act of violence that the Maoists do carry out is Véronique’s farcical assassination of the Soviet Minister of Culture, Mikhail Sholokhov (author of And Quiet Flows the Don and winner of the 1965 Nobel Prize in Literature). Sholokhov is an ideal target for those who think culture is a revolutionary weapon, since he represents a form of artistic revisionism which the Maoists believe needs to be smashed.

It is true that Maoism led the militants in La Chinoise into a cul-de-sac of Blanquist adventurism and burnout, but it also provided a revolutionary alternative to the PCF, offering a theoretical justification for students playing the vanguard role in the class struggle, as well as the necessity of ideological struggle against bourgeois and revisionist ideas and the promotion of revolutionary culture. 

The Future Is Bright, the Road Is Torturous  

Ironically, the Maoist students who inspired La Chinoise despised it. The Maoists thought Godard made them look foolish and stupid. Some believed that Godard was little better than a police agent and threatened to hold a “people’s tribunal” for him. One militant said that Godard “exploited a need for romanticism. He described a fanatical little group that has nothing Marxist-Leninist about it, which could be anarchist or fascist… It’s a film about bourgeois youth who have adopted a new disguise.”94 During May 1968, radical graffiti mocked Godard as “le plus con des suisses pro-Chinois” (translation: the biggest ass among the Swiss pro-Chinese).95

Godard deserved better. While La Chinoise did poke fun of Maoism as radical chic and satirize revolutionary ideology as another fashion to be consumed, the film itself was a serious experiment at creating a new art form and grappling with how to make revolution. In a 1967 interview, Godard explained his motivations in producing La Chinoise:

Why La Chinoise? Because everywhere people are speaking about China. Whether it’s a question of oil, the housing crisis, or education, there is always the Chinese example. China proposes solutions that are unique… What distinguishes the Chinese Revolution and is also emblematic of the Cultural Revolution is Youth: the moral and scientific quest, free from prejudices. One can’t approve of all its forms… but this unprecedented cultural fact demands a minimum of attention, respect, and friendship.96

Arguably, Maoism and the Cultural Revolution did not provide the answers that Godard believed they did. However, the questions raised by Godard on art and communist politics are far from superficial, but remain ones with which every artist and revolutionary must grapple with. 

The Democratic Socialist Cul-de-sac: A Critical Look at The Socialist Manifesto

Doug Enaa Greene reviews The Socialist Manifesto by Bhaskar Sunkara (New York: Basic Books, 2019). Rather than an innovative take on socialist politics for the 21st century, The Socialist Manifesto is just the same old reformism that has been a dead-end for the left. 

The Socialist Manifesto: not a worthy replacement of the Communist one

 

Writing in the preface to the 1888 English edition of the Communist Manifesto, Frederick Engels explained why he and Marx did not call their pamphlet the “Socialist Manifesto.” According to Engels, socialism was identified with utopian dreamers and reformers “who wanted to eliminate social abuses through their various universal panaceas and all kinds of patch-work, without hurting capital and profit in the least.” In contrast to socialists, communists were considered dangerous to the ruling class since they stood for working-class revolution and the “radical reconstruction of society” that would end all exploitation and oppression. In other words, Marx and Engels were completely justified in shying away from this “socialism.” Perhaps not realizing this, Bhaskar Sunkara, founder and editor of Jacobin Magazine and a prominent member of the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), has written The Socialist Manifesto as a primer on the history of socialism and how we can achieve it today.

Sunkara’s proposed socialist strategy is a democratic one conducted primarily through elections. A great deal of the book is spent discussing historical examples of socialists who have undertaken this road, such as the social democratic parties that made up the Second International. In discussing the early socialist parties, such as the German Social Democratic Party, Sunkara locates the key tension between their vision, which hoped for a radical transformation of society and winning immediate reforms. Sunkara says that social democracy’s strategy of incremental reform appeared sound since winning these increased party membership and led to greater votes on election day. Furthermore, social democratic party officials and bureaucrats had a vested interest in reforms, because they now possessed vested interests in the existing order that would be jeopardized if there was a revolution. The end result of this strategy was social democracy’s betrayal of internationalist principles and support for the slaughter of the First World War.

Sunkara argues that what happened in 1914 was not the inevitable result of reformism; it could have been avoided with “institutional measures” to make the party bureaucracy more accountable to the rank-and-file (78). However, The Socialist Manifesto avoids any serious discussion of the root causes of the Second International’s degeneration, such as imperialism, the conservative role of the labor aristocracy, and the abandonment of Marxist theory in favor of “practical results.” As a result, Sunkara avoids seriously examining difficult and uncomfortable questions about his strategy.

In looking to positive examples of democratic socialism, Sunkara spends a great deal of time on post-1945 Swedish social democracy, which he claims was “the most humane social system ever constructed” (14). The Socialist Manifesto claims that Sweden went further than any social democracy in directly attacking capitalism when it attempted to implement the Meidner Plan in the mid-1970s. The Meidner Plan proposed the gradual socialization of the Swedish economy through compelling corporations to continually issue new stock that would then be transferred to workers’ funds controlled by Swedish labor unions. Gradually the unions, and by extension their members, would gain control of the nation’s means of production. However, the Plan was watered down when it was eventually introduced, and capital ultimately defeated it altogether. Sunkara says that the failure of the Meidner Plan reveals the main dilemmas of social democracy, which relies upon winning elections and delivering results, economic expansion, and partnership with capitalists willing to compromise on major reforms. All of this means that social democracy’s reforms are precarious and in danger of being rolled back (123-124). Despite this, Sunkara maintains that “the road to a socialism beyond capitalism goes through the struggle for reforms and social democracy, that it is not a different path altogether” (30).

Still, this raises the question of how can democratic socialists can avoid the failures of Sweden and other social democratic endeavors. Sunkara offers a number of remedies. For one, he recognizes that once social democrats are elected, they will face the same challenges and pressures as their predecessors, since passing reforms require maintaining business confidence and profits. As Sunkara notes, social democrats for the most part have been willing to cave into business pressure and abandon their reform programs. His solution is for extra-parliamentary movements to hold reformers’ feet to the fire (a somewhat weary and shopworn mantra of social democrats) in order to force capital to make concessions. Sunkara says that a serious democratic socialist experiment must understand that the capitalist class will “do everything to stop us” through capital strikes and withholding investment.


Even though Sunkara says “history matters” (236), he ignores the history which disproves his democratic socialist strategy, namely the Chilean road to socialism. The election of Salvador Allende  in 1970 on the program of a parliamentary road to socialism represented a far more radical endeavor than the Meidner Plan. It included nationalization of copper mines owned by powerful US corporations, land expropriations and redistribution, and nationalization of banks, among other policies. In line with Sunkara’s strategy, Allende’s government won at the ballot box and was supported by popular and radical movements in the streets, and support for Allende’s party even increased in the off-year elections. Ultimately, the Chilean road to socialism failed. It was undermined by capital strikes, sabotage from American imperialism, and, finally, its violent overthrow by the military coup of 1973.

The failure of Salvador Allende proves a simple truth that Sunkara refuses to recognize — the nature of power. In capitalist society, the state, especially the military, remains an instrument of class domination that must be smashed by the organized and armed working class. If the power and privileges of the capitalist class are threatened in a substantial way, as they were in Chile, capital will respond with brutal force no matter how ‘legal’ and ‘peaceful’ socialists are. Ultimately, the peaceful road is not peaceful at all, but results in a bloodbath for the unarmed working class in the face of capitalist resistance. Therefore, it is necessary to smash the bourgeois state along with its police, army, and the whole repressive apparatus, and replace it with instruments of popular power in order to suppress the resistance of the capitalist class and open the way to socialism. Nothing The Socialist Manifesto proposes confronts this reality; rather Sunkara’s program only paves the way to future defeats.

The Socialist Manifesto does not limit its discussion of history to social democracy. It also looks at revolutionary experiments in Russia and the third world. Despite his rejection of the revolutionary road, Sunkara does not condemn the Russian Revolution outright. Rather, he spends many pages challenging the crude anticommunist narrative of 1917 and the notion that Leninism simply led to Stalinist totalitarianism. Sunkara emphasizes that Lenin’s revolutionary strategy did not lead to Stalinism; it was, in fact, based on orthodox social democracy: “But it wasn’t a blueprint for a radically different party; rather, these were tactics needed for a movement barred from the legal organizing and parliamentary work pursued by its counterparts elsewhere. Once tsarism was overthrown, backward Russia and its small working class could develop along Western lines and push the struggle further” (83). The Bolshevik’s social democratic origins meant that they were a lively and democratic party rooted in the working class. This changed with the outbreak of World War One and the revolutions of 1917 when the Bolsheviks broke with social democracy and seized power. Still, Sunkara rejects the simple narrative that the Bolsheviks staged a coup in 1917. Instead, he argues that while it was “certainly not as spontaneous as the February Revolution, October represented a genuine popular revolution led by industrial workers, allied with elements of the peasantry” (93).

After taking power, the Bolsheviks, according to Sunkara, struggled to build a new order while facing economic breakdown, foreign intervention, and civil war. This unprecedented situation led Lenin to centralize power and resort to red terror in a desperate struggle against counterrevolutionaries. While Sunkara does not believe red terror was inherent in Bolshevism, he does fault Lenin for squelching democracy and open debate in Russia (98).

In contrast to other democratic socialists, Sunkara does not casually dismiss the Russian Revolution as totalitarian from the beginning. Rather, he wants to remember the grandeur, power, and heroic vision of 1917. And yet, The Socialist Manifesto sees no other outcome for the Bolsheviks other than Stalinism because “materially, Russia wasn’t ripe for socialism” (88). Sunkara believes that due to the unfavorable objective circumstances and the fact that they had no other model to rely upon, the Bolsheviks had no real options, but he concludes that their model, which was “built from errors and excesses, forged in the worst of conditions, came to be synonymous with the socialist ideal itself” (103-104). He sees no alternative path offered by any of the other Bolsheviks. Trotsky himself is acknowledged as “Stalinism’s greatest critic” but one who “couldn’t admit that any part of the system he so despised had its genesis in the early repression that he himself had helped engineer.” (101). As a result, the emergence of Stalinism as a “horrific totalitarian regime unlike any the world had ever seen” was the inevitable, albeit tragic outcome, of Russian backwardness (102). In the last instance, Sunkara’s remembrance for 1917 is that of tragedy, with the attitude that its revolutionary ideas have no relevance for today.

Revolutions in China, Cuba, and Vietnam fare little better in Sunkara’s estimation. He acknowledges that it was Leninism, not social democracy, that appealed to the third world since it emphasized anti-imperialism and the needs of the peasant majority. Following the argument of DSA founder Michael Harrington, Sunkara argues that because the third world lacked the preconditions of socialism, Marxists were forced to rely upon “substitute proletariats” such as peasants in order to lay the foundation of capitalist modernity. As a result, the Chinese, Cuban, and Vietnamese revolutions came from above and “ruled over and on behalf of the oppressed, not through them” (131). However, Steve Cushion’s A Hidden History of the Cuban Revolution: How the Working Class Shaped the Guerillas’ Victory shows, contrary to Sunkara’s claim, that there was working class involvement throughout the course of the Cuban Revolution and it cannot be reduced to a revolution from above. There is no consideration of the possibility of peasants as revolutionary subjects, which would require a far deeper engagement with the dynamics of the Chinese, Cuban, and Vietnamese Revolutions than Sunkara is prepared to do. Rather, The Socialist Manifesto concludes that third world revolutions vindicate the claim that socialism requires an advanced productive base in order to prevail, otherwise the result is authoritarian collectivism.

The Cuban Revolution involved mass working-class involvement contrary to mythology

This argument is premised on a rigid stagist reading of Marx’s work, not to mention a serious misreading of history. That is something Marx himself rejected in his later writings on the Russian commune. There, Marx was far more open to the possibilities of socialist revolution in underdeveloped countries as opposed to the necessity of all nations following the historical path laid out by Western Europe. And for someone schooled in Trotsky’s writings, Sunkara does not even discuss his theory of permanent revolution, which argued that revolution could occur in the capitalist periphery before the center. Trotsky argued emphatically against a simple stagist path: “To imagine that the dictatorship of the proletariat is in some way automatically dependent on the technical development and resources of a country is a prejudice of ‘economic’ materialism simplified to absurdity. This point of view has nothing in common with Marxism.” The revolutions in the third world confirmed the theory of permanent revolution, since the masses in the third world did not wait idly by with folded arms for the development of capitalism. Rather, they carried out the tasks of the bourgeois revolution and went further by taking the socialist road. And despite the mistakes, limitations, and setbacks of revolutions in China, Cuba, and Vietnam, they did more to advance the cause of socialism than the social democracies of Western Europe, which all made their peace with imperialism.

Based on his understanding of history, what concretely does Sunkara propose for American socialists? He argues that socialists must take account of the particular American conditions, namely the two-party system, that make forming an independent socialist party so difficult. While not rejecting the formation of a socialist party as a distant goal, Sunkara believes it is necessary to operate inside the Democratic Party for the foreseeable future. Unlike Michael Harrington, Sunkara does not consider realigning the Democrats to be a realistic strategy. Rather, he says that due to the loose nature of the Democrats they are vulnerable to “the electoral equivalent of a guerrilla insurgency” (232). He points to the example of Bernie Sanders and his 2016 election campaign that fought against the Democratic Party machine: “Sanders believed that the path to reform was through confrontation with elites….[He] gave American socialism a lifeline by returning it to its roots: class struggle and a class base” (201). For Sunkara, Bernie Sanders represented a real alternative program and his campaign created a new political constituency of “Berniecrats” who are fighting against inequality. The Socialist Manifesto argues that socialists must build upon the Sanders’ campaign by constructing their own alternative narrative in order to win elections and pass sweeping reforms.

Sunkara’s argument downplays the power of the Democratic Party and its ability to co-opt social movements and present itself as a party of the people while serving the interests of liberal capitalism. Furthermore, his argument that Bernie Sanders represented a watershed moment in American politics is based on myth-making and ignoring his actual record. While it may have been the case that Sanders was a “class struggle social democrat” in his youth, that has not been the case for many decades. As Murray Bookchin and Alexander Cockburn have observed, Sanders is very much a career politician and a Democrat in all but name. Sanders consistently supports and funds imperialist wars and apartheid Israel and does not advocate a socialist program, but one of New Deal liberalism, as he himself has recently admitted. In contrast to Sunkara, socialists must recognize the limitations of Sanders and the Democratic Party and clearly demarcate ourselves by creating independent organizations and presenting a revolutionary alternative. 

It is to Bhaskar Sunkara’s credit that The Socialist Manifesto is an easy read. No doubt, Sunkara’s work will appeal to a wide audience, especially those who want a primer on the ideas and strategy of democratic socialism. However, a real discussion on socialism begins with the acknowledgement that it has not been democratic socialism, but only revolutionary communism that has breached the walls of capitalism. That means a sober look on the organizations, methods, and means necessary to make that revolution a possibility, not repeating the failed strategies of reformism. This is something The Socialist Manifesto does not do, meaning that it provides little value to understanding what is needed to achieve socialism.

Leon Trotsky and Cultural Revolution

Doug Enaa Greene argues that in Trotsky’s work a theory of cultural revolution can be found, one which differs from Mao Zedong’s that was developed in the context of the Russian Revolution and its struggle against bureaucracy. 

The argument that a “cultural revolution” is a necessary part of a socialist revolution is generally associated with Mao Zedong and the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) that he initiated in China. However, Leon Trotsky, in a vastly different way than Mao, stated that Russia needed a cultural revolution. According to Trotsky, a cultural revolution was needed along with industrialization to construct socialism. Trotsky’s industrialization plan for Russia would increase the social weight of the proletariat. A cultural revolution would raise the masses’ cultural level by eradicating mass illiteracy and superstition and change their habits and customs, which would make the working class fit to rule society.

The Heritage of Underdevelopment

According to Marx, socialism would develop first in industrialized capitalist countries with their vast productive powers and rich cultural heritage that the working class would use to build a new order. Contrary to Marx, the Bolshevik Revolution occurred in a backward country, which complicated matters in regards to cultural transformation. Although the major urban centers were “islands of capitalism” with a high concentration of workers in modern factories, large portions of the countryside were just emerging from feudalism. As the Bolsheviks recognized, Russia did not possess the material and cultural conditions needed to overcome capitalism on its own. Both Lenin and Trotsky believed that one of the tasks of the new Soviet republic was to begin the process of creating them. However, the low levels of culture, technical skill, etc., for most of the population along with the isolation of the revolution meant that options were limited.

For Lenin, questions of culture and ideology were intimately connected with the goals of communism – how to overcome the legacy of capitalism and class society. According to Georg Lukács, Lenin’s cultural strategy had three goals:

To abolish the difference between village and city, to abolish the difference between physical and intellectual labour, and to restore the meaningfulness and autonomous nature of labour. Here, too, economic construction and cultural revolution appear inseparable. The electrification of the village, the mechanisation of agricultural production, and such like, directly serve purely economic goals: increased production. However, this increase is not achievable by means other than continuously raising the cultural level of the village; so, too, it requires that agricultural production draw ever closer to the principles of planned factory-production, to principles supported by the latest achievements of science, which master nature ever more thoroughly, and which demand of the labour-force scientific capabilities.1

Lenin’s vision, shared by Trotsky, was that the working class had to not only master the achievements and culture of bourgeois society but overcome their limitations in the construction of socialism. The development of a socialist planned economy coincided with not only economic modernization, but also cultural transformation. Modernization and the increase of productive forces were not seen as ends in themselves – this would merely reinforce the inequalities of capitalism – but were part of an all-around transformation of the conditions of life.

Trotsky and the Proletkult

The Russian Revolution not only brought the working class power, but unleashed great artistic and cultural creativity. Among the changes there were assaults on the traditional family, divorce was made easy, women expanded their horizons, social privilege was rejected, new laws put national equality in place of Great Russian chauvinism (anti-Semitism was outlawed). There was social experimentation in everything from factory organization to education. The Revolution saw the flowering of the artistic avant-garde, as can be seen in the symbolic image of the “Beat the Whites with the Red Wedge” or the emblem of the hammer and sickle that are powerful representations to convey the values of the revolutionary cause to communists, artists, and workers. Lastly, there was the Proletkult, a movement of Bolshevik intellectuals, artists and workers inspired by the ideas Alexander Bogdanov and Anatoly Lunacharsky, who rejected class culture and wanted to create a culture, science, and art based on the values of internationalism, materialism, and atheism. A new proletarian culture, stripped of bourgeois influences, would be the basis of modern socialist society.

Lenin did not think very highly of the Proletkult movement, stating:

Proletarian culture is not something that suddenly springs from nobody knows where, and is not invented by people who set up as specialists in proletarian culture. Proletarian culture is the regular development of those stores of knowledge which mankind has worked out for itself under the yoke of capitalist society, of feudal society, of bureaucratic society.2

Lenin’s negative view of the Proletkult movement was shared by Trotsky, who argued that

It is fundamentally incorrect to contrast bourgeois culture and bourgeois art with proletarian culture and proletarian art. The latter will never exist, because the proletarian regime is temporary and transient. The historic significance and the moral grandeur of the proletarian revolution consist in the fact that it is laying the foundations of a culture which is above classes and which will be the first culture that is truly human.3 

According to Trotsky, every class creates its own art and culture, but bourgeois culture developed in a protracted period of several centuries before taking power, while the proletariat did not develop its own culture before the revolution. Furthermore, a proletarian dictatorship was transitory (lasting years or decades) and during that time, the attention of the working class would mainly be absorbed in fierce political struggles. There would be no development of a distinctive proletarian culture, since the dictatorship of the proletariat leads to the end of class distinctions and the creation of a universal human culture. Considering the backwardness of the Russian proletariat in regards to culture, Trotsky said they needed to critically appropriate, absorb and assimilate the old culture. According to Isaac Deutscher, Trotsky said the working class

ought to view the cultural legacy dialectically and see its historically formed contradictions. The achievements of civilization had so far served a double purpose: they had assisted man in gaining knowledge and control of nature and in developing his own capacities; but they had also served to perpetuate society’s division into classes and man’s exploitation by man. Consequently, some elements of the heritage were of universal significance and validity while others were bound up with obsolete or obsolescent social systems. The communist approach to the cultural legacy should therefore be selective.4

Cover of Furnace, an official organ of Proletkult, designed by Aleksandr Zugrin

Economic Development and Cultural Revolution

Trotsky’s conception of a cultural revolution involved the proletariat eliminating illiteracy, superstition and raising their cultural level, so they would be fit to rule. However, Russian backwardness meant that different and contradictory conceptions of the world coexisted together among the people, even among communists:

A man is a sound communist devoted to the cause, but women are for him just “females,” not to be taken seriously in any way. Or it happens that an otherwise reliable communist, when discussing nationalistic matters, starts talking hopelessly reactionary stuff. To account for that we must remember that different parts of the human consciousness do not change and develop simultaneously and on parallel lines. There is a certain economy in the process. Human psychology is very conservative by nature, and the change due to the demands and the push of life affects in the first place those parts of the mind which are directly concerned in the case.5

A resolute struggle was needed to raise the cultural level of the proletariat and peasantry so they wouldn’t reproduce systems of oppression and domination under a socialist veneer. The battle against backward ideas and attitudes was not simply a struggle for ideas, habits, and attitudes needed to be connected with uprooting the material conditions that engendered them.

Socialism would overcome those conditions by creating modern industry, improving the standard of living and increasing the weight of the proletariat in Soviet society: “The decisive factor in appraising the movement of our country forward along the road of socialist reconstruction, must be the growth of our productive forces and the dominance of the socialist elements over the capitalist—together with an improvement of all the conditions of existence of the working class.”6 At the same time, the bureaucracy who ruled had to be combated and the workers needed to be in firm control of the Soviets, trade unions and the Party. Although Trotsky did not believe that the USSR would be secure until the worldwide victory of socialism, they had a task to hold out until they could receive aid from revolutions abroad. Ultimately, the worldwide victory of socialism, the development of industry and culture would free the proletariat from the shackles of feudalism, make them fit to rule.

Trotsky’s ideas on cultural revolution and developing industry formed a single integrated strategic vision:

even the slightest successes in the sphere of morals, by raising the cultural level of the working man and woman, enhance our capacity for rationalizing production, and promoting socialist accumulation. This again gives us the possibility of making fresh conquests in the sphere of morals. Thus a dialectical dependence exists between the two spheres.7

A cultural revolution could not be delayed until the productive forces were already developed but needed to be done simultaneously, otherwise, old customs, relations, habits of Russian backwardness would engulf the revolution.

Soviet underdevelopment meant the bureaucratization of the party and state were real and pressing problems. There was a tendency among the bureaucracy to protect its monopoly to information from the working class. As Marx said, the bureaucracy “is a hierarchy of knowledge.”8 The Soviet bureaucrats did not want the masses involved in the life of the country:

What is the use, they say, of wasting time in discussions? Let the authorities start running communal kitchens, creches, laundries, hostels, etc. Bureaucratic dullards usually add (or rather imply, or say in whispers—they prefer that to open speech): “It is all words, and nothing more.” The bureaucrat hopes…that when we get rich, we shall, without further words, present the proletariat with cultured conditions of life as with a sort of birthday gift. No need, say such critics, to carry on propaganda for socialist conditions among the masses—the process of labour itself creates “a sense of socialness.”9

Trotsky said this problem would not be solved by replacing the “bad” bureaucrats with “good” ones, but the working class taking charge in the construction of socialism.

Trotsky’s approach to the bureaucracy was guided by several considerations:

1) The party and state could not possibly know everything. Bureaucrats tend to be inert and distrust initiative, but socialism requires the masses taking conscious leadership to solve the problems of economic development and cultural change.

2) Socialist consciousness will not emerge in a spontaneous way. Although the “state can organize conditions of life down to the last cell of the community,” but unless the workers themselves were involved in the process, then “no serious and radical changes can possibly be achieved in economic conditions and home life.”10 Whereas the previous generation of workers learned communism through class struggle and revolution, the next generation will learn “in the elements of construction, the elements of the construction of everyday life. The formulas of our program are, in principle, true. But we must continually prove them, renew them, make them concrete in living experience, and spread them in a wider sphere.”11 While the state will play a major role in constructing socialism, the masses had to be the guiding force: “The proletarian state is the structural timber, not the structure itself. The importance of a revolutionary government in a period of transition is immeasurable… It does not mean that all work of building will be performed by the state.”12

3) The course of socialist development meant that change could not from enlightened bureaucrats, but through coordination of local needs within an overall plan. Ultimately, socialism requires revolutionary practice by the working class and not administration by bureaucrats.

Although the party needed to promote their own cultural workers (artists, writers, etc), this did not mean that the party had a monopoly on knowledge. A cultural revolution needed pluralism and competing currents of artistic and literary schools – save for those who were openly and unambiguously counterrevolutionary. While the party should provide guidance in the realm of culture, it should not enforce a state-led cultural revolution. According to Trotsky: “The state is an organ of coercion and for Marxists in positions of power these may be a temptation to simplify cultural and educational work among the masses by using the approach of ‘Here is the truth – down on your knees to it !”13

Trotsky rejected the claims of the Proletkult that Marxism was a universal system which provided a master key for every problem. According to him,

The Marxian method affords an opportunity to estimate the development of the new art, to trace all its sources, to help the most progressive tendencies by a critical illumination of the road, but it does not do more than that. Art must make its own way and by its own means. The Marxian methods are not the same as the artistic. …The domain of art is not one in which the Party is called upon to command. It can and must protect and help it, but it can only lead it indirectly….And at any rate, the Party cannot and will not take the position of a literary circle which is struggling and merely competing with other literary circles.14

Trotsky’s plan for a cultural revolution and economic development was to realize the communist dream where “free development of each is the condition for the free development of all.”15 A communist society would mean a transformation in the arts where “technique will become a more powerful inspiration for artistic work, and later on the contradiction itself between technique and nature will be solved in a higher synthesis.” Art and culture would be cleansed of the inequities of class society and flourish under communism. People would finally be free to develop their capabilities to the fullest. In a lyrical passage, Trotsky described the untold possibilities of cultural development under communism:

It is difficult to predict the extent of self-government which the man of the future may reach or the heights to which he may carry his technique. Social construction and psychophysical self-education will become two aspects of one and the same process. All the arts—literature, drama, painting, music, and architecture will lend this process beautiful form. More correctly, the shell in which the cultural construction and self-education of Communist man will be enclosed, will develop all the vital elements of contemporary art to the highest point. Man will become immeasurably stronger, wiser, and subtler; his body will become more harmonized, his movements more rhythmic, his voice more musical. The forms of life will become dynamically dramatic. The average human type will rise to the heights of an Aristotle, a Goethe, or a Marx. And above this ridge new peaks will rise.16

Construction on White (Robot), by Aleksandr Rodchenko 1920

Trotsky and Mao

At the 1942 Talks at the Yenan Forum on Literature and Art, Mao rejected Trotsky’s approach to culture as one of “dualism” or “pluralism” which confined the party’s leadership extended to “politics,” while art remained “bourgeois” (a mischaracterization of Trotsky’s position):   

Party work in literature and art occupies a definite and assigned position in Party revolutionary work as a whole and is subordinated to the revolutionary tasks set by the Party in a given revolutionary period. Opposition to this arrangement is certain to lead to dualism or pluralism, and in essence amounts to “politics–Marxist, art—bourgeois”…17

For Mao, art and culture needed to be subordinate to the requirements of politics, since they

are part of the whole revolutionary cause, they are cogs and wheels in it, and though in comparison with certain other and more important parts they may be less significant and less urgent and may occupy a secondary position, nevertheless, they are indispensable cogs and wheels in the whole machine, an indispensable part of the entire revolutionary cause. If we had no literature and art even in the broadest and most ordinary sense, we could not carry on the revolutionary movement and win victory. Failure to recognize this is wrong. Furthermore, when we say that literature and art are subordinate to politics, we mean class politics, the politics of the masses, not the politics of a few so-called statesmen.18

While art and culture had previously served the bourgeoisie, now Mao said both would serve the proletariat.

Since art and culture were stamped by class and politics, reactionary ideas needed to be struggled against. Like Trotsky, Mao does not believe the working class should reject art from previous epochs, stating

We should take over the rich legacy and the good traditions in literature and art that have been handed down from past ages in China and foreign countries, but the aim must still be to serve the masses of the people. Nor do we refuse to utilize the literary and artistic forms of the past, but in our hands these old forms, remoulded and infused with new content, also become something revolutionary in the service of the people.19

It was the task of revolutionary artists, cultural workers, and intellectuals to take the stand of the working class and the masses, not those of the elite. Art had to be produced for the masses and taken up by them as a weapon of struggle. In order for writers and artists to accomplish this, their primary task was to know the people (their daily lives, “common sense,” feelings, struggles, etc) and develop the cultural forms created by the people and tease out the elements of “good sense.” Art and culture must reflect the problems and aspirations of ordinary people and not the aspirations of the old ruling classes. Mao’s conception of culture was successfully able to mobilize millions to take the fight against the Japanese and the People’s Liberation.

There was a potential for abuse in Mao’s conception of culture, which can mean cultural control by the party – who could determine what was or was not revolutionary. In contrast, Trotsky granted a greater scope for culture outside of the control of the party (save for openly counterrevolutionary voices).

Mao’s theory behind the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution was that a series of cultural revolutions were necessary to “continue the revolution” since bourgeois survivals remained in both the economy and the superstructure that conflicted with new political, cultural and ideological ideas. According to Mao, the superstructure did not automatically change in response to developments in the base, rather there was a lag as the old culture lingered. A conscious effort is needed through mass campaigns and action. If a conscious effort is made to change the superstructure, this would in turn spur development of the economic base as encapsulated in the slogan “grasp revolution, promote production.”

Since the People’s Republic was a transitional society, the birthmarks of capitalism continued to exist and were reproduced – such as the law of value, disparities in decision-making, inequality, access to resources, education, culture, and the persistence of patriarchy which encouraged a breach between the party and the masses. Mao feared that these tendencies would lead to the growth of capitalist restorationist elements within both the party and state.

The Cultural Revolution rejected the premise of developing the productive forces and recognized that the class struggle continued under the dictatorship of the proletariat. Only the continuing revolutionizing of the productive relations would increase the control of the masses in society, overcoming capitalist economic relations and the ideological and political relations which reproduce them, in order to continue on the socialist road.

The Cultural Revolution was launched in May 1966 a call to the masses, inside and outside of the party, to overthrow the “capitalist roaders” in the party and state, and root out old ideas and culture:

Although the bourgeoisie has been overthrown, it is still trying to use the old ideas, culture, customs and habits of the exploiting classes to corrupt the masses, capture their minds and endeavour to stage a comeback. The proletariat must do the exact opposite: it must meet head-on every challenge of the bourgeoisie in the ideological field and use the new ideas, culture, customs and habits of the proletariat to change the mental outlook of the whole of society. At present, our objective is to struggle against and overthrow those persons in authority who are taking the capitalist road, to criticize and repudiate the reactionary bourgeois academic “authorities” and the ideology of the bourgeoisie and all other exploiting classes and to transform education, literature and art and all other parts of the superstructure not in correspondence with the socialist economic base, so as to facilitate the consolidation and development of the socialist system.20

The Maoist vision of Cultural Revolution was voluntaristic and idealistic with an under-estimation of the weight of economic factors. While socialists need to reject economism, this doesn’t mean socialism can be built by political will regardless of unfavorable conditions. The ultimate criteria for determining the capitalist or socialist character of a society was whether or not it followed the correct political line (in this case, Mao Zedong Thought). This can lead to declaring that the class character of the party and socialism have little to do with the working class, but that socialism is solely determined solely by ideology and political line.

The Soviet Cultural Front

Although Trotsky was ousted from power, at beginning of the Five Year Plans, the USSR did embark on its own cultural revolution. The Soviet cultural revolution opened vast avenues of educational and cultural mobility for the working class throughout society. According to the historian Sheila Fitzpatrick, the purpose of the cultural revolution was “both asserting party control over cultural life and opening up the administrative and professional elite to a new cohort of young Communists and workers.”21 Although the Soviets had a long-standing policy of placing workers into administrative positions, this was done on an unprecedented scale during the cultural revolution. According to Fitzpatrick: “Of the 861,000 persons classified as ‘leading cadres and specialists’ in the Soviet Union at the end of 1933, over 140,000- more than one in six had been blue-collar workers only five years earlier. But this was only the tip of the iceberg. The total number of workers moving into white-collar jobs during the First Five-Year Plan was probably at least one and a half million.”22  Furthermore, the numbers of workers receiving higher education swelled: “About 150,000 workers and Communists entered higher education during the First Five-Year Plan, most of them studying engineering since technical expertise rather than Marxist social science was now regarded as the best qualification for leadership in an industrializing society.”23 These newly educated workers and administrators rejected the claims of bourgeois experts to leadership in production, leading them to view some elements in the party “as protectors of the bourgeois intelligentsia, over-reliant on the advice of non-party experts, complacent about the influence of experts and former Tsarist officials within the government bureaucracy, and prone to infection by ‘rotten liberalism’ and bourgeois values.”24 The Soviet cultural revolution (whatever its limitations) struggled against bourgeois values, intellectuals, culture, elitism and bureaucracy in all aspects of society. The cultural revolution fired the imaginations of young party members and workers who were encouraged to attack any manifestation of liberalism or capitalism, “but at the same time they were instinctively hostile to most existing authorities and institutions, which they suspected of bureaucratic and ‘objectively counter-revolutionary’ tendencies.”25 Many of the cultural revolution’s initiatives were spontaneous and outside of party control, but their ideas “were also taken seriously, receiving wide publicity and also, in many cases, substantial funding from various government agencies and other official bodies.”26

Despite the great advancements in education and upward mobility for the Soviet working class during the 1930s, the same period also saw the growth of the bureaucracy and a “cult of personality” surrounding Stalin. In the USSR, the traditions of Marxism mixed uneasily with those of Tsarism and Greek Orthodoxy. As time passed, the structure of the Communist Party and society more and more resembled the spirit of the Orthodox Church with its dogmas, orthodoxy, heresies, and inquisitions (most grossly on display during the Purge Trials). Furthermore, the social weight of the peasantry and backwardness took their revenge as beliefs in “primitive magic” found expression in the party and state. According to Deutscher, primitive magic was common amongst the peasantry and “expressed man’s helplessness amid the forces of nature which he had not yet learned to control; and that, on the whole, modern technology and organization are its deadliest enemies. On the technological level of the wooden plough primitive magic flourishes.”27 Initially, the Bolsheviks spoke a language of reason to the peasantry, but as the revolution’s emancipatory energies were exhausted, the party “lost the sense of its own elevation above its native environment, once it had become aware that it could only fall back on that environment and dig itself in, it began to descend to the level of primitive magic, and to appeal to the people in the language of that magic.”28 Nothing exemplifies the Soviet embrace of primitive magic more than the cult of personality surrounding Stalin, who was seen as the all-knowing and all-wise leader. In the later Stalin years, rampant chauvinism was fostered in the USSR “to convince the Soviet people that the Russians, and the Russians alone, had been the initiators of all the epoch-making ideas and of all the modern technical discoveries…[which] goes back to that remote epoch when the tribe cultivated a belief in its own mysterious powers which set it apart from and above all other tribes.”29

By the time of the Great Purges, the sheer weight of Russian backwardness and isolation took their toll as the cultural revolution and emancipatory initiatives were rolled back. In their place, the Soviets reasserted old moral and cultural values, a need for order, authority and social hierarchy, promotion of the traditional family and increasingly, Russian nationalism. The USSR shed its iconoclasm in the cultural sphere and promoted “Socialist Realism” which glorified the achievements of the Soviet state and society. According to the Marxist cultural critic Ernest Fischer, Socialist Realism was a “tendency to control the arts, to administer and manipulate them, to drive out the spirit of criticism and free imagination, and to transform artists into officials, into illustrators of resolutions.”30 Trotsky viewed Socialist Realism as a symptom of Thermidorian decline, disillusionment, and a move towards conservative uniformity:

The style of present-day official Soviet painting is called “socialist realism.” The name itself has evidently been invented by some high functionary in the department of the arts. This “realism” consists in the imitation of provincial daguerreotypes of the third quarter of the last century; the “socialist” character apparently consists in representing, in the manner of pretentious photography, events which never took place. It is impossible to read Soviet verse and prose without physical disgust, mixed with horror, or to look at reproductions of paintings and sculpture in which functionaries armed with pens, brushes, and scissors, under the supervision of functionaries armed with Mausers, glorify the “great” and “brilliant” leaders, actually devoid of the least spark of genius or greatness. The art of the Stalinist period will remain as the frankest expression of the profound decline of the proletarian revolution.31

Conclusion

Trotsky’s vision of a cultural revolution, just like that of industrialization, was connected with questions of working-class emancipation and socialism. Economic development would increase the proletariat’s social weight in society. The proletariat would need to assert their own interests by controlling both the party and state (meaning both had to be democratized). To enable the working class to rule, the USSR had to build a modern society with education, social provisions, and raise the standard of living. Therefore, a cultural revolution was necessary to raise the spiritual and cultural level of the working class so they could consciously create socialism.

Michael Harrington and His Afterlives

Doug Enaa Greene gives an overview and critique of the political journey of Michael Harrington, founder of the Democratic Socialist of America, and his influence on reformist socialism to this day. 

Michael Harrington: still an influence in the reformist left

Michael Harrington (1928-1989) was the most important advocate for democratic socialism in the United States in the latter half of the twentieth century. He is widely, and deservedly, recognized for writing The Other America, a seminal exposé of poverty in the United States. However, Michael Harrington was not simply a public intellectual but a political activist who developed a vision to make democratic socialism into a major force in American life. His strategy was to realign the Democratic Party by driving out the business interests and transform it into a social democratic party. This new party of the people would then not only represent the interests of the vast majority and pass genuine reforms, but begin the transition to democratic socialism. Michael Harrington’s politics and vision have outlived him and they remain the “common sense” of much of the American left, shaping debates in the organization he founded, the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA). 

Life of Michael Harrington

Despite later being hailed as the “Man Who Discovered Poverty,” Michael Harrington’s beginnings were anything but impoverished. He was born into a well-off Irish-American and Catholic family in St. Louis, Missouri, on February 28, 1928. When he was growing up, the terms Catholic, Irish, and Democrat were practically synonymous. His immediate and extended family were just as devoted Democrats as they were faithful Catholics and culturally Irish. Despite a brief lapse into revolutionary radicalism in the mid-1950s, Michael himself would maintain his allegiance to the Democratic Party for most of his life.

However, it was the Catholic Church far more than his Irish heritage that shaped Michael Harrington’s early worldview. For both religious and financial reasons, Michael’s family wanted him to receive a rigorous Jesuit education. He attended local Jesuit schools and later attended Holy Cross College in the 1940s, where he distinguished himself as a brilliant student. Michael absorbed the Jesuits’ lessons that “ideas have consequences, that philosophy is the record of an ongoing debate over the most important issues before mankind.”1 Even after Michael left the Church, a Jesuit spirit remained in his later Marxist writings. In his youth, his social and economic ideas were in line with Pope Leo XIII’s 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum, which condemned unbridled capitalism and displayed concern for the condition of the working class.

After graduating second in his class at Holy Cross in 1948, Michael went to Yale Law School. His father hoped that he would pursue a career in law, but Michael had dreams of becoming a poet. After less than a year at Yale, he was accepted into the University of Chicago’s program for English literature. During his time in Chicago, Michael was drawn to the city’s Bohemian culture where “everyone… had a poem or play or novel in the works.”2 Amongst these free spirits, he read voraciously in order to grasp ideas and their implications. He also experienced his first crisis of faith and no longer accepted that people could be condemned to hell no matter the offense. This caused the edifice of his Jesuit worldview to collapse. When Michael graduated with a Master’s degree in 1949, he not only lacked his religious belief but was now completely unsure about his future. So he returned home to Saint Louis, where he worked as a social worker in impoverished sections of the city. It was during this time of seeing poverty that he had a revelation:

One rainy day I went into an old, decaying building. The cooking smells and the stench from the broken, stopped-up toilets and the murmurous cranky sound of the people were a revelation. It was my moment on the road to Damascus. Suddenly the abstract and statistical and aesthetic outrages I had reacted to at Yale and Chicago became real and personal and insistent. A few hours later, riding the Grand Avenue streetcar, I realized that somehow I must spend the rest of my life trying to obliterate that kind of house and to work with the people who lived there.3

He was now determined to do something to fight poverty. However, he did not yet know what. In December 1949, he moved to Greenwich Village in New York City; Bohemia still beckoned him. While in Greenwich Village, he was exposed to left-wing politics. At one of the many jobs he worked, he recalled that “bosses and the workers discussed the Russian Revolution at lunch break.”4 He still took little interest in those debates, but was starting to pay attention.

When the Korean War broke out in June 1950, he experienced another crisis of faith and became a conscientious objector and rejoined the Catholic Church. His reconversion occurred after reading Pascal and Kierkegaard: “I no longer felt that I could prove my faith, but now I was willing to make a wager, a doubting and even desperate wager, on it: Credo quia absurdum. I believe because it is absurd.”5 He decided to put his faith into action. From 1951 to 1953, Michael was a part of Dorothy Day’s Catholic Worker Movement, which was one of the most vibrant expressions of left-wing Catholicism in the United States. As Michael later observed: “it was as far Left as you could go within the Church.”6 The Catholic Worker Movement acted to improve the lives of the poor, preached absolute pacifism, and urged its adherents to “live in accordance with the justice and charity of Jesus Christ.”7

Harrington’s start as a labor organizer was in the Catholic Worker Movement

Michael Harrington not only worked in the soup kitchens and lived his faith, but wrote and edited for the Catholic Worker on labor struggles and poverty in America. He started making public speeches and developed connections to the literary world and the anti-communist left. Then, in 1952, he met Bogdan Denitch, a member of the Young People’s Socialist League (YPSL), who saw Michael as a promising recruit. Denitch’s instincts were correct: Michael joined the YPSL and left both the Catholic Worker and the Church itself. This time his break with organized religion was permanent.

Almost from the moment that he joined the YPSL, Michael was fighting the Socialist Party leadership. Due to the Cold War, the Socialist Party and its leader, Norman Thomas, accepted prevailing anticommunist consensus and supported the Korean War. Michael Harrington and the YPSL opposed Thomas and began working with Max Shachtman’s Independent Socialist League (ISL), which opposed the Korean War. Michael and the YPSL severed ties with the parent body and fused with the ISL in February 1954 to create the Young Socialist League (YSL).

Michael proved to be a major asset for Max Shachtman and the ISL. He wrote and edited for a number of socialist papers on a vast range of topics. In his capacity as an organizer, he traveled widely across the United States to different college campuses to speak and establish contacts. Max Shachtman himself—a former communist and Trotskyist—ended up becoming Michael’s most important political mentor. This influence was something that Harrington acknowledged after he had broken with Shachtman in later years. In the dedication to the 1970 work Socialism, he wrote: “Even though I have some serious disagreements with him on issues of socialist strategy, I am permanently and deeply indebted to Max Shachtman, who first introduced me to the vision of democratic Marxism and whose theory of bureaucratic collectivism is so important to my analysis.”8 Harrington took from Shachtman a deep-rooted anticommunism grounded in the belief that the Soviet Union was a bureaucratic collectivist evil empire. He also adopted Shachtman’s politics in other respects: an adaptation to social democracy, alliances with the labor bureaucracy, and support for “realignment” in the Democratic Party. This is not to say that his politics were completely identical to those of Max Shachtman: he was able to expand and develop Shachtman’s ideas and diverged with him on secondary issues when necessary.

During the Red Scare era, life on the socialist left was largely confined to small groups on the margins of politics. Michael Harrington wanted to change that. He became open to collaboration with liberals in pursuit of progressive causes. However, Michael believed that this common work would only be effective if socialists had an organization of their own. An opportunity came to regroup the American left in 1956 after Khrushchev’s Secret Speech and the near total collapse of the Communist Party USA. Suddenly a new political space on the left opened up, and both the ISL and the Socialist Party hoped to take advantage of it. Realizing their mutual goals, the ISL and Socialist Party fused in 1958. Considering that the Socialist Party was practically moribund, ISL members such as Max Shachtman and Michael Harrington quickly assumed positions of prominence in the organization. The merger left Michael Harrington hopeful that the left finally had its own organization and would soon place its mark on American politics.

As part of a new strategy for socialists, Michael Harrington was no longer concerned with the revolutionary seizure of power, but with pragmatic and “realistic” questions about using the existing institutions to effect change. To that end, he argued that the left needed to support progressives in the Democratic Party to achieve reforms. He also argued that left-leaning members of the labor bureaucracy such as Walter Reuther were not obstacles to the development of class consciousness, but were allies of the left. According to Michael Harrington, the “Reutherites were the genuine, and utterly sincere and militant, Left-wing of American society.”9

During the late 1950s and early 1960s, Michael Harrington also played an active role in the Civil Rights Movement, where he worked closely with important figures like Bayard Rustin. Rustin was a major organizer for the Montgomery Bus Boycott and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s March on Washington. Harrington and Rustin shared Shachtman’s vision of allying the Civil Rights Movement with organized labor and the Democrats to create a new majority. As part of this work, Michael wanted to keep the Civil Rights Movement on a moderate course and worked to exclude communists from organizations such as the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC).

It was in 1962 that Michael Harrington first rose to national fame with the publication of The Other America. Even though he wrote dozens of articles and published fourteen books on a diverse array of subjects, his name is synonymous with just this one. The Other America was a groundbreaking and moving exposé of poverty in the United States of America. It established Michael’s reputation as a respected intellectual and advocate for the poor. The Other America stirred the conscience of people from all walks of life by revealing the grinding poverty that existed in the richest country in the world. As Martin Luther King Jr once jokingly said to him: “You know, we didn’t know we were poor until we read your book.”10 The Other America’s impact extended beyond the circles of idealistic students into the corridors of power when it caught the attention of President Kennedy who planned to launch a “War on Poverty.” After Kennedy’s death, President Johnson carried on his legacy by expanding the welfare state with his vision of the Great Society. Michael Harrington himself served as an adviser to President Johnson in developing the Great Society programs.

Harrington’s The Other America was influential on “war on poverty” programs in the 1960s

While Michael supported the Great Society, he believed that welfare state could not overcome the contradictions of capitalism: “Capitalism ‘socializes’ private priorities and is institutionally opposed to any redistribution of the relative shares of wealth. This is related to its propensity for crisis and, ultimately, its self-destruction. In this context, the welfare state is seen as an ambiguous and transitional phenomenon, the temporary salvation of the system, but also the portent of its end.”11 As we shall discuss later, Michael Harrington believed that it was necessary to go past the welfare state.

As student radicalism emerged, Michael Harrington was hopeful about its prospects to revitalize the American left, provided that it received proper guidance from him. To that end, he served as a mentor to the young radicals of Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) in developing the Port Huron Statement. The Port Huron Statement was one of the defining documents of sixties radicalism. According to Kirkpatrick Sale, it not only provided coherence to a new generation of students, but “it gave to those dissatisfied with their nation an analysis by which to dissect it, to those pressing instinctively for change a vision of what to work for, to those feeling within themselves the need to act a strategy by which to become effective. No ideology can do more.”12 Michael Harrington’s ideas are quite visible throughout the Port Huron Statement in stressing the necessity of the student movement allying with the civil rights movement and labor unions, realigning the Democratic Party and supporting liberals, and rejecting communism.

However, the Port Huron Statement also condemned American imperialism for instigating the Cold War and rejected visceral anti-communism. Michael Harrington found this abhorrent and was enraged. He had the League for Industrial Democracy (LID), SDS’s parent organization, cut off funding to the youth affiliate and changed the SDS office door locks to keep the radicals out. Later, Michael Harrington and the LID board interrogated the SDS radicals in a mini-show trial for being soft on communism. Eventually cooler heads prevailed and a break between LID and SDS was avoided.

For the rest of his life, Michael Harrington regretted what happened and believed that the clash was due to a misunderstanding between two different generations. While Michael acknowledged his lack of diplomacy in handling SDS, he did not believe he was wrong on the larger political issues at stake: “But if I am quite ready to acknowledge my personal failings in this unhappy history, I am not at all prepared to concede political error on all points in the dispute.”13 Michael admitted that even if he had been more tactful with SDS, it would not have made a difference in the long run: “the conflict was, I think inevitable, and had I acted on the basis of better information, more maturity, and a greater understanding of the differences at stake, that I would only have postponed the day of reckoning.”14 Ultimately, Michael Harrington’s problem with SDS and the New Left was not just that they were “soft on communism,” but that they rejected the moderation and liberalism that were central to his politics. Eventually, the conflict between him and the radicals came to a head with the Vietnam War.

When the Johnson Administration escalated American involvement in Vietnam, SDS played an active role in opposing it. Like SDS, Michael Harrington opposed the war, but the main dividing line between them was over how to oppose it. Michael wanted to keep his lines of communication open with the White House and liberal Democrats because he believed they were vital allies when it came to domestic reform. To Michael, Democratic support for the war was a tragic error and not the symptom of anything deeper. He refused to target the Democrats as complicit in the war because that could only alienate them. To that end, Michael argued that the antiwar movement needed to be kept within proper limits and stay respectable. He therefore opposed militant action, the participation of communists, breaking the law, or anything that would actually end the war. Only when the Democrats were not the ones conducting the war after 1968 and large swaths of the public and the establishment saw it as unwinnable did Michael come out against it, while his allies like Max Shachtman backed the war to the bitter end.

Over the course of the 1960s, Michael Harrington’s relations with Max Shachtman became strained due to a number of issues, leading to a split. Aside from differences over Vietnam, Michael remained steadfast in supporting the original vision of Realignment by supporting progressives in the Democratic Party and labor bureaucracy, and he was committed to winning over moderates in the New Left. By contrast, Shachtman uncritically supported the AFL-CIO leadership, opposed the New Left tout court and backed the most right-wing Democrats because they were reliably anticommunist. The factional fight between Shachtman and Harrington tore the Socialist Party apart. In 1973, Michael Harrington finally resigned from the party.

After leaving the Socialist Party, Michael founded a new socialist organization – the Democratic Socialist Organizing Committee (DSOC). DSOC had a solid base of support among progressives in the labor bureaucracy. Its strategy was to support realignment in the Democratic Party to push it to the left. To that end, Michael Harrington and DSOC supported the Democratic Agenda, a New Deal-style program that was supported by Jimmy Carter in 1976. When Carter was elected, Michael Harrington believed that the Democrats would carry out sweeping reforms similar to FDR or LBJ. Instead, he felt betrayed when the Carter Administration enacted austerity measures and ignored the program of the Democratic Agenda.

Over the course of the 1970s, DSOC grew and began working with like-minded socialist groups such as the New American Movement (NAM). Eventually, NAM and DSOC merged and created the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) in 1982 with Michael Harrington as its preeminent leader. The Reagan years saw crushing defeats on organized labor, attacks on the legacy of the New Deal, and an escalation of the Cold War. To oust Reagan, Michael Harrington and his allies in the labor bureaucracy eschewed any form of independent socialist politics or militancy from below, and instead placed their faith in the Democratic Party. This meant that the DSA stayed aloof from Jesse Jackson’s Rainbow Coalition, which was probably the most serious Realignment effort in decades, by backing the conservative Walter Mondale. When Reagan secured a smashing victory in 1984, the lesser-evil strategy of “Anybody but Reagan” was shown to be a dismal failure. In a postmortem of the democratic socialist 1984 electoral strategy, Alexander Cockburn concluded:

They must now be footsoldiers in a campaign whose captains are implacably antagonistic to the principles of their constituencies…So in control are the Democratic ‘pragmatists’ as the pollsters and pundits call them, the ones who argue for party unity at the expense of movement and who propose that the way to beat Reaganism is to denounce its excesses while accepting its premises. The pathos of their opportunism lies in its shortsightedness. As every tactician can attest, the key to defeating Reagan is turnout. But turnout has political content and context. People will not simply vote for Anybody But Reagan; they want somebody who speaks to their interests, who promises them more than they’ve got and who offers them hope.15

It was mere days after Reagan’s reelection that Michael Harrington discovered a bump in his throat, which was later determined to be cancer. After a series of operations and surgeries, it appeared that his cancer was gone. By 1987, Michael’s doctors told him that he had an inoperable tumor, and he was was given two years to live. During those last years, he continued his political and intellectual work. He finished his second memoir, The Long-Distance Runner, and a testament, Socialism: Past and Future. Still, his condition deteriorated and he quietly passed away on July 31, 1989.

Harrington would support conservative Democrat Walter Mondale in the 1984 election.

The Limits of Democratic Socialism

From the 1960s until the end of his life, Michael Harrington developed a sophisticated theory of “Democratic Marxism” that he hoped that it would serve as both the ideology and political strategy for democratic socialists and the American labor bureaucracy. Michael believed that the tenets of “Democratic Marxism” would enable socialism to break out of its political isolation, create a new political majority and lead to the creation of democratic socialism. “Democratic Marxism” was all-encompassing, touching on areas ranging from philosophy to imperialism, but here we will discuss merely two of its aspects: Realignment and the Transition to Socialism.

A. Realignment

While Michael Harrington did not originate the idea of Realignment, he did develop it into a full-blown strategy for not only transforming American politics, but as a necessary part of a socialist transition. According to Harrington, realignment was “the only place where a beginning can be made” and he fervently believed that without it, all socialist efforts would ultimately fail.16 He claimed that the Realignment strategy was based on a Marxist analysis of the changing class nature of American society. He believed that after World War II the social weight of the organized working class had declined. If there was going to be a majority for socialism in America, then the working class couldn’t rely only on themselves; it needed allies. As he argued: “There is no single, ‘natural’ majority in the United States which can be mobilized behind a series of defined policies and programs. Rather, there are several potential majorities at any given time and which one will actually emerge depends on a whole range of factors.”17

Michael Harrington argued that the most important ally of the working class was located in the “new class” of scientists, technicians, teachers, and professionals in the public sector of society.18 The emergence of the new class was a sign that the capitalist economy was “inexorably moving toward collective forms of social life.”19 In the USSR, China, and Eastern Europe, this collectivist trend took the shape of the new tyranny of “bureaucratic collectivism.” On the other hand, in the United States and Western Europe, collectivism took the form of the welfare state where “markets give way to political decisions… [and] bureaucrats, both private and public, become much more important than entrepreneurs or stockholders.”20 Harrington concluded that society faced the choice of two possible futures: “these extensions of Shachtman’s theories have led me to a basic proposition: that the  future is not going to be a choice between capitalism, Communism, and socialism, but between bureaucratic collectivism, advantageous to both executives and commissars, and democratic collectivism, i.e. socialism.”21 This was Michael Harrington’s updated version of Rosa Luxemburg’s warning of “socialism or barbarism.”

For Michael Harrington, the issue was not about reversing these collective trends, which he accepted as a given, but whether the future would be democratic or totalitarian. For Michael, the key factor determining the future lay in the contradictory nature of the new class. In the new class, there was the potential for anti-democratic forces prevailing: “With so much economic, political and, social power concentrating in computerized industry, the question arises, who will do the programming? Who will control the machines that establish human destiny in this century? And there is clearly the possibility that a technological elite, perhaps even a benevolent elite, could take on this function.”22 On the other hand, the new class “by education and work experience…is predisposed toward planning. It could be an ally of the poor and the organized workers—or their sophisticated enemy. In other words, an unprecedented social and political variable seems to be taking shape in America.”23 For example, the expansion of education was necessary to teach the “new class” of planners and bureaucrats to create new opportunities for social advancement and prestige as part of the established order. However, Harrington argued that students were not destined to “act bureaucratically and use sophisticated means to keep the black and poor in their proper place.”24 As the 1960s student movements demonstrated, “a school is a dangerous place, for it exposes people to ideas…Increasing education, all the data indicates, means greater political involvement.”25 This all meant the future political allegiance of the new class was open.

Therefore, the possibility existed of the working class allying with the new class, along with blacks and the poor (Harrington would later include groups such as feminists, peace activists, and environmentalists in this coalition) to build a new majority or the “conscience constituency.”26 Harrington believed it was only this new majority that could bring real democratic socialist change to America.  Eventually, he believed that the components of the new majority would seek political expression. Rather than creating a new third party, Harrington believed it was necessary to realign the Democrats. He argued that the Democrats were a site of struggle for socialists since they not only contained segregationists and capitalists, but also held the allegiance of labor unions, blacks, and progressive sections of the new class. In other words, he claimed there was a contradiction within the Democratic Party between its social base and its racist and capitalist leadership. According to the Socialist Party Platform of 1968: “That the most progressive elements in American life thus belong in the same Party as the most reactionary is one of the most outrageous contradictions in the society. But it is not enough simply to denounce the scandal. We must abolish it.”27 Michael Harrington was emphatic that socialist work within the Democratic Party “does not constitute a commitment either to its program or leadership…So the democratic Left does not work in the Democratic Party in order to maintain that institution but to transform it.”28 In 1973, he succinctly described the realignment strategy as “the left wing of realism” because it was only there that the “mass forces for social change are assembled; it is there that the possibility exists for creating a new first party in America.”29

Despite the rise of the new class, Michael Harrington believed that the AFL-CIO remained the leading force of Realignment and the new majority. While American labor unions had avoided independent political action in the shape of a labor or socialist party like their European counterparts, he argued that they had actually created one in all but name. In fact, Michael Harrington asserted that the socialism of the American labor movement was actually unknown to most: “there is a social democracy in the United States, but most scholars have not noticed it. It is our invisible mass movement.”30 Therefore, he concluded that labor unions were not just another interest group in the Democratic Party, but they “had clearly made an on-going, class-based political commitment and constituted a tendency—a labor party of sorts—within the Democratic Party.”31

Michael Harrington argued that the first step of Realignment “will not be revolution or even a sudden dramatic lurch to the socialist left. It will be the emergence of a revived liberalism—taking that term to mean the reform of the system within the system—which will of necessity, be much more socialistic even though it will not, in all probability, be socialist.”32 With a new, robust liberalism as the short-term goal for Realignment, this naturally meant socialists should look to liberals as natural allies. Therefore, the Realignment strategy required patience and playing a long game, but the promised result was the creation of a left-liberal, if not social democratic, party that would take over the Democratic Party and lay the foundations for democratic socialism.

For all its theoretical sophistication, Michael Harrington’s Realignment strategy rested on a number of faulty assumptions. Firstly, his contention that the Democratic Party was open to being “captured” by socialist forces was misguided. This position assumed that the Democrats were a loose coalition of diverse interest groups such as labor and capital who were more or less equally balanced. In fact, the Democrats are a capitalist-controlled party representing the interests of more liberal elements among the ruling class. While Michael Harrington is certainly correct that the Democrats do traditionally command the support of a progressive and working-class constituency, this does not make the Democrats the “party of the people.”33 In fact, labor unions and other progressive groups hold no power in the Democratic Party due to overwhelming capitalist control. Capitalist hegemony in the Democrats allows them to thwart any internal challenge or to co-opt them as the need arises. This is a reality that Michael Harrington never understood.

Secondly, the liberal-labor alliance needed for Realignment was an illusion of Harrington’s own imagination. As Kim Moody observed: “Post-World War II liberalism, although embraced by much of the union leadership, was mostly a middle-class phenomenon…As a political current, it never challenged the corporate or private form of property in the means of production, while it rapidly abandoned such New Deal-expanding programs as a national health care system by the early 1950s.”34 In other words, liberals were not reliable allies of socialists, but were their enemies. To win the support of liberals, Harrington argued that socialists needed to practice moderation and play according to the rules set by the Democratic Party. Since the Realignment strategy saw the Democratic Party as the only political arena for socialists, this led socialists to accept the logic of lesser-evilism and supporting any Democrat, no matter how right-wing, which ultimately thwarted the goals of the entire strategy.

Lastly, the Realignment strategy was doomed because it refused to develop an independent socialist organization. On paper, the Socialist Party viewed themselves as playing a unique role in Realignment as “an independent organization, free of any compromising ties with the old party machines. It can and it will play the role of the most courageous and intransigent force for realignment.”35 In practice, however, this was never something carried out. As Christopher Lasch argued,

[Harrington] is correct in saying that there are no new social forces automatically evolving toward socialism (which is what “democratic planning” comes down to). Presumably this means that radical change can only take place if a new political organization, explicitly committed to radical change, wills it to take place. But Harrington backs off from this conclusion. Instead he seems to predicate his strategy on the wistful hope that socialism will somehow take over the Democratic party without anyone realizing what is happening. He admits that “there is obvious danger when those committed to a new morality thus maneuver on the basis of the old hypocrisies.” But there is no choice, because radicals cannot create a new movement “by fiat.” It is tempting, Harrington says, to think that the best strategy for the Left might be to “start a party of its own.” But this course would not work unless there were already an “actual disaffection of great masses of people from the Democratic Party.36

In the end, Michael Harrington forgot the cardinal lesson of Lenin that “in its struggle for power the proletariat has no other weapon but organization.”37 Without political independence, there was no room for socialists to develop strategies and actions to advance the interests of the working class. Instead, Realignment forced socialists to maintain good relations with liberals in the hopes of reform at the expense of revolutionary militancy from below. The natural end of Realignment and Harrington’s democratic socialism was the transformation of leftists into the most loyal servants of the Democratic Party.

Harrington debates Trotskyist Peter Camejo on Jimmy Carter at Queens College, 1976

B. Popular Front without Stalinism

Instead of through a violent revolution and the dictatorship of the proletariat, Michael Harrington believed that socialism could be achieved peacefully through an electoral majority. In formulating a democratic strategy, he drew upon the work of the Italian Communist Antonio Gramsci, whom he called “one of the most fascinating thinkers in the history of Marxism.”38

Michael Harrington argued that socialists needed to create a counter-hegemonic bloc that comprised a majority of the population, who would have a vested interest in a new order. This counter-hegemonic bloc would win support by promoting a “practical program in a language of sincere and genuine idealism. A politics without poetry will simply not be able to bring together all the different and sometimes antagonistic forces essential to a new majority for a new program.”39 Harrington argued that the Gramscian “intellectual and moral reform” that socialists needed to undertake involved building upon American traditions, particular Jeffersonian republicanism with its ideals of moral virtue and citizenship: “But I do not think that the Left can afford to leave the civic emotions to the Right. In a profound sense, that is our heritage more than theirs.”40 The promotion of a new republican ethic would not only Americanize socialism but enlighten people and mobilize them for social change.

For a democratic transition to socialism to be possible, socialists must be able to capture the existing state apparatus from the bourgeoisie. Building on the work of the Marxist theorist Nicos Poulantzas, Harrington argued that the capitalist state was “relatively autonomous” and not the instrument of any single class.41 He claimed that the classical Marxist position on the state—that it is a machinery of repression in the hands of the dominant class, designed to preserve capitalist rule and existing property relations—was false since it was “tied to the base-superstructure model of society and is flawed for that reason. It metaphorically imagines the government as an inert thing that has no life of its own and is wielded by the ‘real’ powers residing in the economic base.”42 Furthermore, he argued that in capitalist society there was no ruling class, merely competing blocs of classes. Due to the great wealth of the bourgeoisie, they naturally exercised greater power in the state than the working class.43 If socialists could mobilize their counter-hegemonic bloc, then they could win concessions from the state and gradually tilt the state to favor working class interests.

As part of his strategy, Michael Harrington said socialists must utilize the state bureaucracy and undertake a transitional program of structural reforms. He argued that socialists could not dispense with existing bureaucracy since it was essential to the functioning of a modern economy. The problem lay not with bureaucracy per se, but with bad bureaucrats. To serve as a check against bad bureaucrats, he envisioned some form of grassroots control alongside more responsible bureaucrats: “bureaucracy is itself a weapon to be used against bureaucracy.”44 The structural reforms that he advocated were the socialization of investment; the progressive socialization of corporate property; later, the socialization of private property itself; and finally using taxes as an instrument of socialist change. He believed that this transitional program could be undertaken without any cataclysmic changes since he did not expect violent resistance from the bourgeoisie. Looking to the example of social democratic Sweden, Michael Harrington argued that “it is now possible to have a relatively painless transition to socialization if socialists will only learn how to encourage the ‘euthanasia of the rentiers.’”45 In looking to a positive model for this strategy, Michael Harrington defended the Communist Party’s popular front. As he said in a 1976 debate with Peter Camejo:

My policy is very much like the Communist policy in the 1930s. You bet your life it is. I’m an opponent of communist dictatorship and totalitarianism. But while the Socialist Party and the Socialist Workers Party were getting absolutely nowhere because they counterposed themselves to the workers who wanted to vote for Roosevelt, the Communist party of the 1930s was building the biggest, largest movement calling itself socialist in the United States since the days of Gene Debs, and winning leadership in a third of the unions of the CIO.46

In other words, he believed in a popular front without Stalinism.47 However, Michael Harrington’s idealization of the popular front is based on a profound misreading of history. During the 1930s, the CPUSA did have a visible presence in unions, black freedom struggles, and anti-fascist coalitions, but this did not come about due to the popular front strategy, but in spite of it. The major successes of the CPUSA in organizing workers occurred before the popular front was implemented when the party experimented with militant united front tactics and still maintained its revolutionary identity. After adopting the popular front strategy, the CPUSA retreated from all that and, in the interests of the Soviet bureaucracy, the Communists ceased all their criticism of the labor bureaucracy, the Roosevelt administration, and liberal organizations. Over the course of the 1930s, the class character of the CPUSA changed as its members took up positions within the labor bureaucracy and clamped down on working class militancy. According to Charlie Post:

Popular Frontism transformed the CP from the main current promoting self-organization, militant action and political independence among workers, African Americans and other oppressed groups into the emerging CIO’s bureaucracy’s ‘point men’ in their drive to ‘tame’ worker and popular militancy and to cement their partnership with the Roosevelt administration.48

As a result of the popular front, the CPUSA retreated from its advocacy of communist revolution and ended up as the “left-wing” of the Democrats and the New Deal. The “hidden secret” of why the anticommunist Michael Harrington idealized the popular front was not because it was proof that socialism had mass influence or spoke the language of ordinary people. Rather, he liked the popular front because it was when the communists ceased to be revolutionary and gave up on militant action, self-organization of the working class, and “sectarian” political independence in order to become loyal allies of the labor bureaucracy and liberals. In other words, it was when communists acted like Michael Harrington’s ideal of a democratic socialist.

Furthermore, Michael Harrington’s popular frontist strategy depends on a fundamental misunderstanding of the state. He is unable to recognize the realities of the state’s dependency on both the existing bureaucracy and the needs of profitability. The ability of socialist governments to deliver the type of structural reforms that Harrington advocates such as higher wages and an expanded welfare state depends on higher taxes on capital, both of which ultimately depend upon profitability. If a socialist government seriously pursued structural reforms, then this would threaten the flow of profits and spark resistance from the existing bureaucracy. This means that there are definite limits on the ability of the capitalist state—even if its governing personnel are principled and dedicated socialists—to implement reforms.49

Harrington also forgets that a socialist majority in parliament does not equal state power. Rather, the real power in the state resides in its unelected institutions—the military, state bureaucracy, courts—all of which will resist structural reforms and a democratic road to socialism with whatever means are at their disposal. This was shown both when Spain’s popular front government and Salvador Allende’s socialist government in Chile were violently overthrown in military coups wholeheartedly supported by the bourgeoisie. The reality that no ruling class willingly surrenders its privileges and power was precisely why Marx and Engels said a violent revolution and the dictatorship of the proletariat was a necessary strategy for revolutionaries. This is something that Michael Harrington refused to acknowledge. All he can offer is moral appeals to the ruling class and faith that they will play fair with socialists, despite all evidence to the contrary.

 

Legacy

Since the 2016 election and the campaign of Bernie Sanders, DSA has grown to 55,000 members and become the largest nominally socialist organization in America in over 60 years. The revitalized DSA has seen chapters spring up across the country and its members involved in activities from labor strikes to fixing brake lights to election campaigns (notably the election of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez to Congress in 2018). It stands to reason that Michael Harrington would be pleased with DSA’s growth, but would he still recognize the organization? In some symbolic ways, DSA has moved away from his legacy in a manner that would have horrified Michael Harrington. There are now Marxist study groups who openly talk about Lenin and Trotsky. At its 2017 convention, DSA severed its longstanding ties to the Socialist International and endorsed the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions Movement to end international support for Israel’s oppression of Palestinians.50 Support at the convention for breaking with the Democrats attracted a substantial minority inside DSA. Does all this mean that DSA is abandoning the politics of Michael Harrington and embarking on a new course? In point of fact, Michael Harrington’s strategy of Realignment and a democratic transition to socialism remain hegemonic inside DSA.

DSA member Maurice Isserman, a biographer of Michael Harrington, has argued that DSA is growing precisely by supporting Democratic candidates such as Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Cynthia Nixon: “The two of them did immeasurably more to popularize democratic socialism by acting as the left wing of the possible than any number of purist third-party campaigns, or electoral abstinence, could ever have accomplished.”51 Isserman argues that those who propose breaking with the Democratic Party are “left sectarians” who embrace “whatever policy and doctrine seems to promise the greatest personal sense of moral purity.”52

Isserman himself is a member of the North Star Caucus, one of the many caucuses that have sprouted up in the DSA. Many of the signatories of the North Star Caucus represent the Harringtonite “Old Guard,” who were active in DSOC, NAM, and the labor bureaucracy. The North Star Caucus believes the main goal of the DSA is to defeat the Republicans by supporting the Democratic Party.53 To accomplish this, the North Star Caucus believes that the Democratic Party needs to be Realigned.54 Supporters of the North Star Caucus such as George Fish explicitly draw inspiration from Michael Harrington’s political vision and understanding of socialism. According to Fish, “Harringtonism is the guiding ideology of democratic socialism in the US” which is characterized by socialism that “fights for free, honest and open elections for achieving socialism based on democratic self-determination and for transformative change for the here and now” as opposed to totalitarian Marxism-Leninism and Trotskyism.55 Secondly, Fish says Michael Harrington was “correct in seeing the locus for socialist struggle within the Democratic Party, and constituting DSA as the left wing of the Democratic Party,” which he believes was vindicated by the DSA’s growth after their involvement in the Bernie Sanders campaign.56

While the North Star Caucus are champions of a Realignment strategy in almost identical terms to Michael Harrington, others such as Seth Ackerman have attempted to update the strategy for the twenty-first century. Like Harrington and the North Star, Ackerman acknowledges that the Democratic Party is undemocratic, lacks a coherent program, and that the party leadership is unaccountable to its membership. Instead of simply uncritically supporting all Democrats like the North Star Caucus, Ackerman proposes that the DSA utilize the Democratic Party by running their own candidates on its ballot line. For Ackerman, supporting the Democratic Party ballot line is not a question of principle, but a “secondary issue” and should be utilized “on a case-by-case basis and on pragmatic grounds.”57 In order for a DSA member to run as a Democrat, Ackerman claims they must adhere to a “democratic socialist” program and be accountable to DSA. In effect, DSA Democrats would function as “a party within a party.” According to Ackerman, his proposal would enable

the Left organize to the point that it can strategically and consciously exploit the gaps in the coherence of the system in order to create the equivalent of a political party in the key respects: a membership-run organization with its own name, its own logo, its own identity and therefore its own platform, and its own ideology.58

For all its sophistication, Ackerman’s updated Realignment strategy comes up against the same roadblocks as Harrington’s original strategy and offers no solution to overcome them.

Whatever their differences, all of the factions in DSA remain formally committed to a democratic socialist road to power. For instance, Jacobin editor Bhaskar Sunkara and leading DSA member Joseph Schwartz favor a strategy that Michael Harrington would have felt quite comfortable with. Sunkara and Schwartz are in favor of an expanded welfare state on the Nordic model, but recognize that “social democracy is good, but not good enough.”59 Like Harrington, they argue that capitalism undermines social democracy in the long run:

Even if we wanted to stop at socialism within capitalism, it’s not clear that we could.

Since the early 1970s, the height of Western social democracy, corporate elites have abandoned the postwar “class compromise” and sought to radically restrict the scope of economic regulation. What capitalists grudgingly accepted during an exceptional period of postwar growth and rising profits, they would no longer.60

In line with Michael Harrington’s strategy, they advocate building a new majority where socialists “must be both tribunes for socialism and [its] best organizers” along the model of the Communist Party’s Popular Front:

Still, the Popular Front was the last time socialism had any mass presence in the United States — in part because, in its own way, the Communists rooted their struggles for democracy within US political culture while trying to build a truly multiracial working-class movement.61

According to Sunkara and Schwartz, a new popular front would have a broad base of support necessary to implement  “non-reformist reforms” that would weaken capitalism and increase the power of the working class, ultimately leading to socialism. Similar to Michael Harrington, the exact mechanisms of Sunkara and Schwartz’s socialist transition remain unclear.

A much more developed strategy of the “democratic road to socialism” has been developed by the sociologist Vivek Chibber. Strangely, Chibber says that the left should look to the early years of the Bolshevik Party as an example of “a mass cadre-based party with a centralized leadership and internal coherence” that is rooted in working-class communities.62 However, Chibber does not advocate a revolutionary insurrection on the Bolshevik model since he claims it is no longer viable due to the overwhelming armed power of the state. Like Sunkara and Schwartz, Chibber argues that the left needs to pursue a strategy of “non-reformist reforms” that “should have the dual effect of making future organizing easier, and also constraining the power of capital to undermine them down the road.”63 In the distant future, Chibber believes that socialism will require a “final break” with capitalism, but what that means is left unspecified and vague. For now, Chibber advocates the creation of a reformist Bolshevik Party, and a gradualist strategy.

While the name Michael Harrington is unknown to most of the DSA’s new members, his ideas continue to shape the contours of the debates on Realignment, reforms, and democratic socialism. Some such as the North Star Caucus remain unreconstructed Harringtonites, while Ackerman, Sunkara, Schwartz, and Chibber have attempted to make those ideas relevant to the present. Still, none of the Harringtonites have seriously confronted the limitations of Michael Harrington’s strategy or how to overcome them. The growth of the DSA’s membership opens up the possibility that the organization may decide on a different course than the one envisioned by Michael Harrington. However, at the time of this writing, the future course of the DSA and Michael Harrington’s essay remains open.

Conclusion

Michael Harrington’s hope was to make democratic socialism a force to be reckoned with in the United States. Whatever his socialist desires may have been, Michael Harrington ultimately reconciled himself to acting as the “loyal opposition” to the powers that be. His realignment strategy meant that he prized tactics of moderation and compromise for fear of alienating potential allies. Realignment was based on a flawed characterization of the Democratic Party as a coalition of equal interest blocs as opposed to a capitalist controlled party, which meant any attempt to “capture” the party was doomed in advance. The requirements of Realignment required kowtowing to liberal prejudices, prizing loyalty to American institutions, and an unquestioning reformist vision. As his conduct proved during the Vietnam War, Michael Harrington’s whole strategy acted as a brake and a roadblock to revolutionary action. Still, Michael Harrington’s ideas shape debates in the DSA and the wider left. Ultimately, if the American left is serious about fighting for socialism, then they will have to abandon Michael Harrington’s politics for those of revolutionary communism.


To Shalon, you mean the world to me.

Doug is currently working on a book on the life of Michael Harrington. His writings can be found here.

 

Missing Victory? Blanqui and the Paris Commune

Louis August Blanqui was a key revolutionary leader in the French Socialist movement. Yet when the Paris Commune erupted in 1871, Blanqui was in prison, leaving his core of followers without leadership. Failing to defeat inevitable counter-revolution, this experiment in social emancipation was crushed in blood.  How would have Blanqui’s leadership affected the outcome of the Commune? Doug Enaa Greene, author of ‘Communist Insurgent: Blanqui’s Politics of Revolution’ weighs in. 

Barricades of the Paris Commune

Rosa Luxemburg, reflecting on the lessons of the defeated 1919 Spartacist Uprising, wrote in one of her last articles:

The whole path of socialism, as far as revolutionary struggles are concerned, is paved with sheer defeats. And yet, this same history leads step by step, irresistibly, to the ultimate victory! Where would we be today without those “defeats” from which we have drawn historical experience, knowledge, power, idealism! Today, where we stand directly before the final battle of the proletarian class struggle, we are standing precisely on those defeats, not a one of which we could do without, and each of which is a part of our strength and clarity of purpose.1

While penning those words, Luxemburg must have pondered the fate of the Paris Commune of 1871, history’s first socialist revolution. The failure of the Commune has haunted generations of revolutionary, who have wondered what it could have done differently to survive. Karl Marx believed that any uprising in Paris would fail, but when the Commune was proclaimed, he hailed them for “storming the heavens.” Yet the Commune did not last – it was isolated from the rest of France, hampered by its own indecisive leadership, and crushed by the overwhelming power of the counterrevolution. Due to the proletariat’s immaturity and inexperience, the Commune was premature and its defeat was unavoidable. However, the sacrifices of the Commune were not in vain, the Bolsheviks learned important lessons from its failure and were able to successfully take and hold power.2 Yet was the Commune destined to be just another ‘glorious defeat’ in the annals of revolutionary history, or was victory actually possible?

In order for the Commune to prevail, any strategy would have to overcome two problems. First: the weaknesses of the National Guard – the main military force of the Commune – who not only never became an effective military force, but missed their best chance in the revolution’s opening days to take the offensive against the weakened counterrevolutionaries at Versailles. Secondly: there was no clear and decisive leadership in the Commune. One figure who could have overcome both these weaknesses to provide the needed military and political leadership for the Commune was Louis-Auguste Blanqui. Blanqui was the most legendary and uncompromising revolutionary in nineteenth-century France. Blanqui believed that a revolution needed to take the offensive to be victorious. He also possessed the prestige and moral authority capable of rallying both the National Guard and the Commune to his leadership. At best, a victory for the Commune would only be a military triumph. Since Blanqui neither appreciated nor understood the socialist potential of the Commune, its final shape would likely resemble the Jacobin dictatorship of 1793.

The Significance of the Paris Commune

Lasting only 72 days, the Paris Commune was a courageous effort by the oppressed to overturn social, economic and political inequality. In its place, the Commune created new institutions of collective power which broke the existing repressive and bureaucratic state apparatus in favor of a state based on universal suffrage, instant recall of delegates, modest pay for elected officials, and the fusion of legislative and executive functions. It replaced the standing army with the people in arms. The Commune attacked the militarism of French society, putting its faith in the unity of all peoples and internationalism. The Commune fulfilled a number of promises during its short existence: it separated church and state, nationalized church property, instituted free, compulsory, democratic and secular education, made strides toward gender equality, and encouraged the formation of cooperatives in abandoned workshops.  The revolutionary principles embodied in the Paris Commune continue to inspire revolutionaries across the world.3

The National Guard and the Seizure of Power

The main military force of the Paris Commune was the National Guard with 340,000 members in March 1871 – nearly the entire able-bodied male population of Paris. The National Guard possessed a long and proud history – its origins lay in 1789 Revolution when it was created by Lafayette as a citizen-militia. According to Robespierre, the National Guard defended the “citadel of the Revolution and the pure and upright citizens who conduct the revolutionary chariot.”4 During the Restoration (1815-1830) and the July Monarchy (1830-1848), the National Guard lost its revolutionary character. When the Second Republic (1848-1851) was proclaimed in 1848, the National Guard was rebuilt with a bourgeois leadership and was used during the June Days to suppress the Parisian proletariat. Under the Second Empire (1851-1870), Napoleon III again allowed the Guard to languish.

However, the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-1871 meant that the National Guard was revived. In August 1871, as the Prussians advanced, the government enrolled most of the Parisian male population into the Guard. As the war turned against France, the National Guard became more and more indispensable to the defense of the capital. Following the devastating French defeat at Sedan in September and the capture of Emperor Napoleon III, a Third Republic was proclaimed. The Republic proceeded to expand the size of the National Guard to 90,000 and now with most of the French Army captured, they were the only organized force capable of defending the besieged capital.

Yet the Republic was frightened of this democratic armed force based among the workers. The National Guard was different than normal armies with their elitist and hierarchical ethos. All officers of the National Guard were elected (except for the government-appointed commander-in-chief) and subject to recall (allowing the battalions to reflect the ever-changing popular mood). Although revolutionary influence was limited in the National Guard, workers were already growing suspicious and hostile to the government due to its greater fear of the armed workers than of the Prussians.

Government hostility was compounded by the desperate siege conditions in Paris. The Prussian blockade had cut off food supplies, completely ruined the economy, brought wide-scale unemployment for most of the middle class. Furthermore, the government did little to organize relief efforts since they were hampered by their belief in the principles of economic freedom and, according to Robert Tombs, they were “reluctant to cause public alarm or provoke the disappearances of food stocks underground into a black market. So it introduced a bare minimum of requisition and rationing. Government policy was incoherent and less than efficient. Requisitions and controls brought in piecemeal, often too late.”5 The burden of shortages, price rises, and long queues fell heaviest on working-class families (particularly women).6 During the siege, speculators amassed enormous profits, which only made the populace more receptive to revolutionary demands for price controls and social justice.  

Throughout the winter of 1870-1 conditions in Paris deteriorated even further as temperatures dropped to subzero levels. During Christmas, while people in working-class neighborhoods were dying of starvation, the wealthy districts and restaurants held festive celebrations with plenty of food. The Germans made sure Paris was reminded of war by periodical bombardment. By the time the Prussians lifted the siege in March, it was estimated that there were 64,154 deaths. According to Donny Gluckstein: “Workers suffered disproportionately, their death rate being twice that of the upper class.”7 The Republic maintained the National Guard out of necessity, and despite the low pay for Guardsmen, employment in the Guard for families could mean the difference between food on the table or starvation. As the siege progressed, more than 900,000 people became dependent in one form or another on the National Guard.

In January, the Republic concluded an armistice, which not only cost the country a large indemnity (to be paid on the backs of the workers), but surrendered the provinces of Alsace-Lorraine to the Germans. In February, elections to the National Assembly returned a monarchist majority who proceeded to approve the Armistice terms by a vote of 546 to 107. The National Assembly also appointed Adolphe Thiers as the President of the Third Republic. Thiers had a long career serving every French government since the 1830s. Under the Orleanist dynasty, he was Minister of the Interior (and later premier) where he had ruthlessly crushed the Parisian uprising of 1834. He had helped bring down the Second Republic by assisting Louis Bonaparte to attain the throne and became a deputy under during the Second Empire. Although Thiers was an early advocate of war against Prussia, he spoke out against the war when it was already lost. Through careful political maneuvering, Thiers distanced himself from the Government of National Defense when the armistice was signed. Despite Thiers’ service to so many different French governments, he appealed to almost every political faction. Thiers would be responsible for orchestrating the repression and the bloodletting of the Paris Commune.

Paris was outraged by this armistice and the elections. They had suffered heavily in the war, only to see the Republic prostrate itself before the invaders instead of rallying the people in arms to fight. The elections also raised the specter of a royalist restoration feared by Red and Republican Paris.
 
In a further blow to national pride, the National Assembly permitted the Germans to parade 30,000 troops through the capital on March 1. The National Guard called for continued resistance to the Germans and reorganized themselves by electing a Central Committee. Massive patriotic demonstrations were held on February 24 to mark the anniversary of the 1848 revolution. Parisians seized arms and ammunition to prepare for a final battle with the Germans. However, the First International, Vigilance Committees and other popular groups in Paris warned the National Guard against provoking a confrontation with the Prussians. Eventually, the Central Committee relented and the popular organizations decided to passively boycott the Germans. Communard participant and historian Pierre-Olivier Lissagaray offers this colorful description of how Germans were greeted when they entered Paris:

they were assailed only by the gibes of guttersnipes. The statues on the Place de la Concorde were veiled in black. Not a shop or cafe was open. No one spoke to them. A silent, mournful crowd glowered at them as if they had been a pest of vermin. A few barbarian officers were permitted a hasty visit to the Louvre. They were isolated as if they had been lepers. When they glumly retired, on March 3, a great bonfire was kindled at the Arc de Triomphe to purify the soil fouled by the invader’s tread. A few prostitutes who had consorted with Prussian officers were beaten, and a cafe which had opened its doors was wrecked. The Central Committee had united all Paris in a great moral victory; even more, it had united it against the government which had inflicted this humiliation.8

Before France signed the treaty, the National Guard and the revolutionaries in Paris were caught in a bind over how to back the war effort without also supporting the government. After the peace treaty was an accomplished fact, that problem was gone and nothing remained to distract the Parisians from confronting the government.

The National Assembly passed two provocative and vindictive decrees that brought antagonisms in Paris to the boiling point. First, the National Assembly moved to Versailles, fearing the insurrectionary mood in Paris. To all Parisians, this was a blow to the prestige of the capital. Secondly, during the war there had been a moratorium on debt repayment, which the National Assembly lifted on March 13. This struck hard both the impoverished working class and small shopkeepers. Lissagaray describes the impact: “Two or three hundred thousand workmen, shopkeepers, model makers, small manufacturers working in their own lodgings, who had spent their little stock of money and could not yet earn any more, all business being at a standstill, were thus thrown upon the tender mercies of the landlord, of hunger and bankruptcy.”9 Now the broad masses of Paris were united against the government in Versailles.

Disorder continued to rise in Paris, frightening the bourgeoisie and causing approximately 100,000 of them to leave before the revolution. The National Guard was no longer under government control, their newly appointed commander-in-chief viewed as a royalist and a defeatist.10 Versailles saw the National Guard was now a threat to their authority, property and social order. The National Assembly wanted to preserve order in the capital, but only had 12,000 regular soldiers under their command. Thiers wanted the Guard disarmed, but had to move carefully to avoid provoking an armed confrontation.

On March 18, Thiers sent troops into Paris to retake 400 cannons under National Guard control. For the Guard, these guns were symbols of the independent power of Paris and its revolutionary people.11 Initially, everything went according to plan and the soldiers seized the cannons. However, no one thought to bring horses to carry away the heavy weapons. So the soldiers waited, but word spread across Paris that they were being disarmed. The population gathered around the soldiers – who were miserable, demoralized and tired of war. Lissargaray describes how this confrontation led to the outbreak of the revolution:

As in our great days, the women were the first to act. Those of the 18th March, hardened by the siege — they had had a double ration of misery — did not wait for the men. They surrounded the machine guns, apostrophized the sergeant in command of the gun, saying, ‘This is shameful; what are you doing there?’ The soldiers did not answer. Occasionally a non-commissioned officer spoke to them: ‘Come, my good women, get out of the way.’ At the same time a handful of National Guards, proceeding to the post of the Rue Doudeauville, there found two drums that had not been smashed, and beat the rappel. At eight o’clock they numbered 300 officers and guards, who ascended the Boulevard Ornano. They met a platoon of soldiers of the 88th, and, crying, Vive la République! enlisted them. The post of the Rue Dejean also joined them, and the butt-end of their muskets raised, soldiers and guards together marched up to the Rue Muller that leads to the Buttes Montmartre, defended on this side by the men of the 88th. These, seeing their comrades intermingling with the guards, signed to them to advance, that they would let them pass. General Lecomte, catching sight of the signs, had the men replaced by sergents-de-ville, and confined them in the Tower of Solferino, adding, ‘You will get your deserts.’ The sergents-de-ville discharged a few shots, to which the guards replied. Suddenly a large number of National Guards, the butt-end of their muskets up, women and children, appeared on the other flank from the Rue des Rosiers. Lecomte, surrounded, three times gave the order to fire. His men stood still, their arms ordered. The crowd, advancing, fraternized with them, and Lecomte and his officers were arrested.12

After the mutiny, Generals Claude Martin Lecomte and Jacques Léonard Clément-Thomas were executed by their own men (despite efforts by the National Guard to prevent the executions). Those soldiers who did not join the revolutionary crowd escaped from the city and retreated to Versailles.  Now the Central Committee of the National Guard was the sovereign power in Paris. However, the exhilaration of revolutionary triumph would prove to be short-lived, as a civil war was about to begin.

The Weakness of the Commune and National Guard

On the morrow of the revolution, Blanquists in the National Guard, such as Émile Duval, argued for an immediate offensive against Versailles. The Blanquist Gaston Da Costa wrote in retrospect, political and social revolution still lay in the future. And to accomplish it the assembly that had sold us out had to be constrained by force or dissolve…. It would not be by striking it with decrees and proclamations that a breach in the Versailles Assembly would be achieved, but by striking it with cannonballs.” 13 The Blanquists argued that the counterrevolution had to be militarily defeated before any lasting social change could occur. The chances for a swift Commune victory appeared promising since they possessed a potential military force of nearly 200,000 National Guardsmen.14


According to the historian Alistair Horne, Versailles no longer had many loyal National Guard units under their command: “the ‘reliable’ units of the National Guard in Paris, which under the siege had once numbered between fifty and sixty battalions, could now be reckoned at little more than twenty; compared with some three hundred dissident battalions, now liberally equipped with cannon.”15 Thousands of regular troops were still German POWs, while those remaining to Versailles lacked discipline and there was a danger of them being susceptible to revolutionary propaganda. Despite the National Guard’s disorganization, their enemy was in even worse state and a swift blow could topple them. Instead of going on the attack, the National Guard relinquished their power and called for an election on March 26 to legalize their revolution by electing a commune. On March 30, the Commune abolished conscription and the standing army.

With an offensive now ruled out, the Commune began negotiations with Versailles hoping to avoid bloodshed and secure municipal liberties.16 This was a forlorn hope since Thiers and Versailles recognized at the very onset that this conflict was a civil war and only side or the other would triumph. Moderates in both the Commune and the National Assembly made several futile, almost comical, efforts to broker a compromise. The negotiations and the Commune’s indecisiveness gave Thiers valuable time to rearm, organize, and negotiate with the Prussians to release French POWs and bolster his forces.

At the beginning of April, Versailles began skirmishing on the outskirts of Paris. The population was roused to a feverish state and was eager to fight. The majority of generals, including the Blanquists Duval and Eudes, supported an offensive sortie to take Versailles. After much hesitation, the Commune launched their first offensive in April, but Versailles was more than ready: “Thiers, having scraped the bottom of the barrel, having brought in Mobiles from all over the provinces and mobilized the gendarmes and ‘Friends of Order’ National Guards [National Guard members loyal to Versailles] escaped from Paris, managed to muster over 60,000 troops at Versailles.”17 By contrast, Lissaragay describes the deplorable state of the National Guard: “They neglected even the most elementary precautions, knew not how to collect artillery, ammunition-wagons or ambulances, forgot to make an order of the day, and left the men for several hours without food in a penetrating fog. Every Federal chose the leader he liked best. Many had no cartridges, and believed the sortie to be a simple demonstration.”18 The National Guard was poorly-led, organized and lost the battle.

Now, Versailles besieged Paris, cordoning off the city from the rest of the country as they amassed troops for an assault. If the Commune was to survive, they needed to create a centralized and organized army to challenge Versailles. Potentially, the Commune had a popular army who were willing to fight for a political and social ideal to the last drop of blood. The problem was that this energy could not be channeled into an effective fighting force. However, in two months, the Commune went through five War Delegates who could not overcome the inherent disorganization of the National Guard and implement an agreed-upon strategy. No leadership was forthcoming from the ruling Communal Council who were divided into several competing factions – Jacobins, Blanquists, Internationalists, and Proudhonists. The Blanquists and Jacobins supported tighter security, centralization and an emergency dictatorship to wage war, while the Proudhonist majority (and many Internationalists) opposed and any thought of “Jacobin centralism.” The Commune’s lack of leadership, inconsistent strategy and factionalism all served to benefit Versailles:


Thus, from the day it assumed office, the danger was apparent that the Commune might be overloaded, indeed overwhelmed, by the sheer diversity of desires as represented by so polygenous a multitude of personalities, ideologies, and interests. And there was no obvious leader to guide the multitude. Had Blanqui been there, it might have been quite a different story. But Blanqui was securely in the hands of Thiers, while Delescluze, the only other possible leader, was so ailing that he would have preferred nothing better than to have retired from the scene altogether. Thiers, it now seemed, had at least made two excellent initial calculations; one was the seizure of Blanqui, and the other had been to force the Communards to commit themselves before either their plans or their policy had time to crystallize.19

Following the April victory, Thiers tightening the noose around Paris. The Commune never overcame its weaknesses and broke the siege. In late May, a French Army of 170,000 men moved into Paris and crushed the revolution in a horrendous bloodbath that killed at least 20,000 Communards.

Partisans of the Commune fight to the death during the infamous ‘bloody week’

Louis-Auguste Blanqui

Could the Commune’s fate have been avoided? The presence of the sixty-six-year-old Louis-Auguste Blanqui could have changed everything. Blanqui (1805–1881) was one of the most revered, dedicated, and uncompromising communist revolutionaries of nineteenth-century France. He had participated in five abortive revolutions from 1830 to 1870. Blanqui’s revolutionary strategy was decidedly simple: a secret conspiracy, highly organized in a hierarchical cell structure and trained in the use of arms and the clandestine arts, would rise up on an appointed day and seize political power in Paris. Once the revolutionaries had power, they would establish a transitional dictatorship which would accomplish two things: serve as a police force “of the poor against the rich” and educate the people in the virtues of a new society. Once these twin tasks were completed, the dictatorship would give way to a communist society. Every French government since 1830 had seen fit to lock him up, hoping to silence his uncompromising voice of class war. Despite constant failure and imprisonment, Blanqui emerged from the dungeons every time to continue fighting.

Blanqui was mainly a man of action with no coherent theory, but a mishmash of eclectic ideas. Despite his theoretical weaknesses, Blanqui did have a keen grasp of insurrectionary tactics that came from his long days as a Parisian street-fighter. In 1868, Blanqui wrote a treatise on urban warfare, Manual for an Armed Insurrection. Blanqui had a thorough knowledge of the methods of street fighting, understanding the importance of organization: “There must be no more of these tumultuous uprisings of ten thousand isolated heads, acting randomly, in disorder, with no thought of the whole, each in his own corner and according to his own fantasy.”20 Organization, coordination, and concern for the larger picture would replace disorder, randomness, and individualism if a revolutionary insurrection was to prevail. He knew that insurgents who are motivated by an idea can be more than a match for a better-armed adversary: “In the popular ranks…what drives them is enthusiasm, not fear. Superior to the adversary in devotion, they are much more still in intelligence. They have the upper hand over him morally and even physically, by conviction, strength, fertility of resources, promptness of body and spirit, they have both the head and the heart. No troop in the world is the equal of these elite men.”21 Blanqui’s ethic is – if you lack the will to win or hesitate in carrying out what the revolution demands of you, not only will you lose, but you are a traitor to the cause you claim to serve. These lessons were not understood by the Paris Commune.

Yet Blanqui’s approach to revolution was voluntaristic – neglecting the role of the masses in their own liberation and placing almost superhuman faith in the ability of arms and organization to succeed, regardless of the objective conditions. He wrote once that “Armament and organization, these are the decisive agencies of progress, the serious means of putting an end to oppression and misery.”22 He believed that due to the unstable contradictions of bourgeois society that revolution could be launched at any time, provided there was a combat organization with a clear plan of battle and the will to win against insurmountable odds can unveil unseen roads to communism.

However, Blanqui was not simply a man of action and an insurrectionist, but a symbol. Alain Badiou argued that emancipatory politics is “essentially the politics of the anonymous masses,” it is through proper names such as those of Blanqui where “the ordinary individual discovers glorious, distinctive individuals as the mediation for his or her own individuality, as the proof that he or she can force its finitude. The anonymous action of millions of militants, rebels, fighters, unrepresentable as such, is combined and counted as one in the simple, powerful symbol of the proper name.”23

For members of the ruling class like Alexis de Tocqueville, he was the very personification of the radicalism of the dangerous classes who threatened their property. When de Tocqueville first saw Blanqui, his very appearance “filled me with disgust and horror.  His cheeks were pale and faded, his lips white; he looked ill, evil, foul, with a dirty pallor and the appearance of a mouldering corpse… he might have lived in a sewer and just emerged from it.”24 According to the novelist Victor Hugo, Blanqui was “no longer a man, but a sort of lugubrious apparition in which all degrees of hatred born of all degrees of misery seemed to be incarnated.”25 Blanqui was a specter whose every word and deed portended the end of order, property, and privilege. Marx recognized that Blanqui was a symbol of terror to the capitalist class and the beacon of hope for the working class: “the proletariat rallies more and more around revolutionary socialism, around communism, for which the bourgeoisie has itself invented the name of Blanqui.”26

Portrait of Louis August Blanqui

The Blanquist Party

During the latter days of the Second Empire, Blanqui’s revolutionary vision and stature attracted many workers and students who formed conspiratorial organizations to bring down the government. The Blanquists launched two failed coup attempts in August and October of 1870. When the Commune was proclaimed, they had members in the National Guard and the Communal Council. They were seemingly well-positioned to play a commanding role in the Commune. So what happened?

For one, they lacked the leadership of Blanqui himself who was in one of Thiers’ jails for the duration of the Commune. Yet only a few months before in September and October of 1870, Blanqui had offered “critical support” for the Republic’s war effort in his journal La Patrie en Danger. Blanqui’s support for the Third Republic confused and disoriented his party. According to the Blanquist militant Da Costa argues, “We cannot say this often enough: since the besieging of Paris by the Prussians, the Blanquist party had sent its men into the battalions of the National Guard, and in doing so lost all cohesion…. Blanqui’s cry of ‘the fatherland in danger,’ as meritorious as it was, was also a disintegrating factor for the revolutionary forces it disposed of until then.”27

Blanqui wanted a more vigorous military effort with a levée en masse and the creation of a revolutionary regime like the Jacobins to fight the Prussians. However, the Republic was unwilling and unable to implement these measures, so Blanqui turned against it and participated in a failed coup attempt of October 1870.28 When the coup collapsed, the Republic placed a bounty on his head and had to go into hiding. Eventually, Blanqui was captured by Versailles on March 17, the day before the foundation of the Commune. In a cruel twist of fate, Blanqui missed the revolution which he had worked for decades to achieve and his party was left leaderless at the critical hour.

Although the Blanquists held several leadership positions within the Commune and the National Guard, the historian Patrick Hutton says they “did not act as a consolidated interest group.”29 Without Blanqui at the helm, his party was incapable of acting effectively and decisively. The Blanquists failed to convince the Commune to in launch a first strike against Versailles,. They also lost their chance to take military leadership of the Commune during the opening days. The Blanquist general Eudes proposed constructing a revolutionary army led by Blanquist commanders (Duval, Chauviere, Ferre, and himself), but this plan was quashed by the Central Committee of the National Guard.30

Secondly, the Blanquist faction’s proposed emergency measures to fight Versailles were resisted by the Communal Council – who believed these would violate the principles of the revolution and democracy by instituting a one-man dictatorship and Jacobin terror. As the military situation continued to worsen during April, the calls grew louder from many outside the Blanquist ranks to create a Committee of Public Safety – harkening back to its 1793 predecessor which saved the First Republic from foreign invaders and counterrevolutionaries. It was hoped that the success of the original Committee of Public Safety could be repeated. Eventually, a majority on the Communal Council supported the creation of a Committee of Public Safety.31 However, it was not led by capable men who did not use the unlimited powers theoretically at their disposal. Instead, the Committee of Public Safety added to the organizational confusion of the Commune and was unable to prevent the final debacle.

On top of its own organizational difficulties, the Commune had to contend with real threats of subversion and deal with a hostile press. While many Communards believed repressive organs were unnecessary, the Blanquist Raoul Rigault who headed the Communards’ police force knew stern measures were needed to combat the counterrevolution. Rigault was a seemingly unlikely police chief, who began his political life during the Second Empire as a young flamboyant Bohemian and atheist militant in the Parisian student quarter. Yet he managed to expose police informers in the Blanquist organization of the 1860s. Blanqui praised Rigault’s talents: “He is nothing but a gamin, but he makes a first-rate policeman.”32 When Rigault banned four hostile papers on April 18: Le Bien Public, Le Soir, La Cloche, and L’Opinion, his actions were protested in the Communal Council and led to calls for his resignation, but he managed to stay on. Rigault went after suspected counterrevolutionaries such as the clergy and investigated monasteries and churches, believing that they held arms and hidden treasure. However, these repeated searches turned up nothing substantive. Although Rigault possessed a fierce revolutionary drive to do what the situation required, he was viewed by many as a “lazy and conceited, a man who reveled in the perquisites of office without being willing to face the responsibilities… Rigault continued to pass his afternoons in the cafes of the Left Bank, as had long been his custom, and left the bulk of the work to his subordinates.”33 Rigault’s fervor was not shared by the majority of the Commune and there was no structure to utilize him, so his talents were left without effective direction.

Rigault and the rest of the Blanquists recognized the fatal weaknesses afflicting the Commune and believed that the imprisoned Blanqui could overcome them and lead the revolution to victory. To that end, Rigault spared no effort to free Blanqui and once declared that: “Without Blanqui, nothing could be done. With him, everything.”34 Blanqui’s prestige extended far beyond the Blanquists, the rest of the Commune viewed him with awe. Initially, he was elected to the Communal Council (in absentia) and there was a motion in the Commune to make him honorary President (instead that honor fell to Charles Beslay).35 After these failures, the Commune negotiated with Versailles to free Blanqui, offering the Archbishop of Paris, their most valuable hostage in exchange. Thiers refused and the Communards made a desperate offer to trade all 74 hostages in exchange for Blanqui. Thiers did not budge. Karl Marx said that for Thiers, it was a wise decision to keep Blanqui under lock and key: “The Commune again and again had offered to exchange the archbishop, and ever so many priests into the bargain, against the single Blanqui, then in the hands of Thiers. Thiers obstinately refused. He knew that with Blanqui he would give to the Commune a head…”36 In the end, Blanqui remained in jail as his comrades were massacred on the streets of Paris.

Despite the Blanquists occupying a number of key positions, they were unable to act in a coordinated or decisive manner to shape either the Commune’s military strategy or its political policies. Without Blanqui, no one in his party possessed the same stature to provide the needed leadership and discipline.

The Choice

If Blanqui had managed to avoid arrest on March 17, what would he have done at the Paris Commune? Based on what know, Blanqui would have argued for a first strike against the routed and demoralized forces of Versailles. The brief window of two weeks before Versailles reorganized in early April was the one time when the Commune had a clear military advantage. Marx lamented that the Commune failed to go on the offensive:

If they are defeated only their ‘decency’ will be to blame. They should have marched at once on Versailles, after first Vinoy and then the reactionary section of the Paris National Guard had themselves retired from the battlefield. The right moment was missed because of conscientious scruples. They did not want to start a civil war, as if that mischievous abortion Thiers had not already started the civil war with his attempt to disarm Paris! Second mistake: The Central Committee surrendered its power too soon, to make way for the Commune. Again from a too ‘honourable’ scrupulousness!37


Blanqui knew that at the beginning of an insurrection, it was necessary to take the offensive or risk losing everything. While other Blanquists were ignored when they made the same case to the Commune and the National Guard, they may have listened to Blanqui with his tremendous moral authority. The National Guard did not attack when it had the advantage over a completely disorganized adversary, and the Blanquists were uncoordinated and leaderless. Blanqui’s presence and leadership could have provided the missing link needed to sway the National Guard and lead the Blanquists to launch an immediate offensive which could well have succeeded.

There has been endless speculation by historians on whether the Commune could have succeeded considering its own manifold disorganization and the forces arrayed against it and on Blanqui’s potential role in the revolution. Hutton argues that the Blanquist hope in their leaders was “a temptation to fantasy. In clinging to a myth of the Commune’s enduring viability in the face of its obvious failings, the Blanquists passed the frontier into that imaginary land wherein they could fulfill the aspirations of their aesthetic reverie free from the intrusion of harsh realities.”38

However, others beyond the ranks of the Blanquists have also stated that Blanqui could have provided the necessary leadership to overcome the divisions which plagued the Commune. For instance, the Communard Minister of War Gustave-Paul Cluseret who believed that: “If Blanqui were at Paris he might save the Commune. He would have taken the political conduct of affairs into his own hands, and have left me free to devote myself to the military defence of Paris. Accustomed to discipline, he would have disciplined his people, and would have allowed me to discipline mine.”39 The French historian, Maurice Dommanget, author of innumerable works on Blanqui, speculates that his presence at the Commune could have proven decisive: “With his organizational and military abilities, with his lucidity, the prestige that was attached to his name, Blanqui would rapidly have become the leader and the spirit of the insurrection. Jaclard believes that he would have the necessary resolution and sufficient authority to command the march on Versailles on March 19, this would obviously change the face of things.”40

Many Marxists have argued that Blanqui was the natural leader of the Commune. As mentioned above, Marx saw Blanqui as the Commune’s head. The Marxist Victor Serge lamented Blanqui’s absence from Paris: “The misfortune of Blanqui, a prisoner during the Commune, the head of the revolution cut off and preserved in the Chateau du Taureau at the very moment when the Parisian proletariat lacked a real leader, still troubled us as the worst kind of ill luck.”41 While Blanqui had little military experience beyond conspiratorial organization and street fighting, but then again, how much training did Leon Trotsky have when he organized the October Revolution and the Red Army?

The Belgian Trotskyist Ernest Mandel says Blanqui was not only “ the greatest French revolutionary of the 19th century” but added:

Everyone, including Karl Marx, considered him the natural leader of the Commune, in which his followers formed a minority around Vaillant. The Paris-based revolutionary government proposed to Thiers that he be freed in exchange for the release of all the Commune’s hostages, including the archbishop of Paris. But Thiers refused, demonstrating the extent to which the French bourgeoisie feared the organisational and leadership capacities of the great revolutionary, and the impact his political gifts could have had on the outcome of the civil war.42

Assuming that Blanqui was able to lead the Commune to victory over Versailles, this is only the beginning of their struggles. Here we enter the realm of pure speculation. A triumphant Commune would have to win over the rest of France. In reality, there were other communes in France in 1871, but they were revolutionary islands surrounded by a hostile countryside and peasantry opposed to the “Reds” and continuation of the war. If the Commune held onto power, they faced a prospect of renewed war with Prussia, which could be even bloodier. They would need to win over enough of the general staff, and although many of the officers may have opposed the Red Revolutionaries, they may have supported a new government committed to doing everything possible to achieve victory. Perhaps, Blanqui’s Commune would become a “French Yenan” –  a liberated zone which rallies the people in arms against a foreign invader. Yet the needs of fighting a war would mean that those alternative voices for social change such as radical workers, Proudhonists and Internationalists would likely be drowned out (or perhaps silenced by a new Committee of Public Safety?). It seems unlikely that the Commune’s advanced social ideas would survive the grim trial of war, assuming France prevailed at all.

Any victory for a Blanquist-led Commune would not have been a triumph for the socialist aspects of the Commune. Blanqui and his followers saw the Commune as a repetition of the Paris Commune of 1793, and not as the beginning of modern socialist politics. The Blanquists neither appreciated nor understood the socialist potential of the Commune. They failed to recognize the creative aspects of proletarian self-emancipation and mass organization which it represented. Blanquists such as Gaston Da Costa denied any socialist possibility for the Commune:

The insurrection of March 18 was essentially political, republican, patriotic, and, to qualify it with just one epithet, exclusively Jacobin… It is nevertheless impossible to argue that socialist ideas, if not doctrines, were not spoken of within the assembled Commune, but these affirmations remained verbal, platonic, and in any case foreign to the 200,000 rebels who on March 18, 1871, slid cartridges into their rifles in indignation. If they had truly been socialist revolutionaries, which our good bourgeois like to believe, and not indignant Jacobin and patriotic revolutionaries, they would have acted completely differently…. Neither Blanqui, if he would have led us, nor his disciples dreamed of creating this environment in 1871. At that time the Blanquists were the only thing that they could be: Jacobin revolutionaries rising up to defend the threatened republic. The idealist socialists assembled in the minority were nothing but dreamers, without a defined socialist program, and their unfortunate tactics consisted in making the people of Paris and the communes of France believe that they had one.43

While the Commune echoed back to the Jacobins by reviving the revolutionary calendar and creating its own Committee for Public Safety, it also marked the entry of the working class onto the stage of history as an independent actor. In this sense, the Commune was a harbinger of the future. The Blanquists could only commemorate, venerate and honor the revolution of 1871 as a holy relic like they did with the bourgeois revolution of 1789. For socialist revolutionaries such as Franz Mehring, the Commune raised new questions of socialist politics and mass working class organization far different than those of Blanquist conspiracies:

The history of the Paris Commune has become a touchstone of great importance for the question: How should the revolutionary working class organize its tactics and strategy in order to achieve ultimate victory? With the fall of the Commune, the last traditions of the old revolutionary legend have likewise fallen forever; no favorable turn of circumstances, no heroic spirit, no martyrdom can take the place of the proletariat’s clear insight into…the indispensable conditions of its emancipation. What holds for the revolutions that were carried out by minorities, and in the interests of minorities, no longer holds for the proletariat revolution…In the history of the Commune, the germs of this revolution were effectively stifled by the creeping plants that, growing out of the bourgeois revolution of the eighteenth century, overran the revolutionary workers’ movement of the nineteenth century. Missing in the Commune were the firm organization of the proletariat as a class and the fundamental clarity as to its world-historical mission; on these grounds alone it had to succumb.44

For revolutionaries such as Lenin, the many errors and missteps of the Commune – not crushing the counterrevolution, not organizing a disciplined party and army, building an alliance with the peasantry, or taking the commanding heights of the economy – were studied so that they would not be repeated. The example of 1871 enabled the Russian Revolution of 1917 to succeed: “without the lessons and legends derived from the Commune, there would probably have been no successful Bolshevik Revolution of 1917…”45 Lenin had a good reason for dancing in the snow when the Soviet Republic reached its 73rd day and outlasting the Commune.

Although Blanqui and his party did not grasp the Commune’s socialist potential, they do represent a choice that could have won a military victory. Whatever the faults of Blanqui, he understood that revolutionaries must launch a swift offensive to win. If Blanqui was present at the Commune with his leadership, revolutionary will, and moral standing, he would have championed that option.