After a stay of several days we left Nikolayev, returning to Odessa by the same maritime auto truck. We followed the former route and witnessed the previous scenes again. Our reception was even more unfriendly than before.
Occasionally some good-natured soldier offered to pay with Sovietsky money, but the villagers pleaded that they could do nothing with the "colored papers," and begged for articles of "manufacture." The chauffeur produced a can of watered gasoline, which he had persuaded an old peasant to exchange for a smoked ham by assuring him that it was the "best kerosene in Russia." The neighbors protested, but the old man, too frightened to refuse, gave up the treasured meat, muttering: "May the Lord have mercy on us and see you depart soon."
In Odessa we learn that the Red Army is in full retreat from Warsaw, and Wrangel steadily advancing from the southeast. The alarming situation makes the further progress of the Expedition impossible. Our anxiety is increased by the circumstance that the mandate for the use of our car expires on October 31, after which date the Railroad Commission has the right of immediate confiscation, involving the probable loss of our material. Our repeated letters and wires have remained without reply by the Narkomput (People's Commissariat of Ways and Communication) in Moscow. No choice is left us but to hasten back to Petrograd to deliver to the Museum our collection which has grown so large it requires an entire tepulshka (freight car).
27a 27a September 20-jO. — At last we have left Odessa and are now journeying by slow stages northward. The lines are clogged with military trains, "dead" engines, and wrecked cars. At Znamenka we come upon the rear of the Twelfth Army retreating in disorder. The Bolsheviki are evacuating points along the route of the expected Polish advance. Large areas have been left without any government at all, the Communists having departed, the Poles not pursuing. The Red Army is rolling back toward Kiev and Kharkov. Our train is constantly delayed or switched to a side track, to clear the way for the military. Should the enemy advance, our Expedition may be entirely cut off from the north, finding itself between Wrangel's forces in the south and southeast, and the Poles in the north and northwest.
Progressing only a few miles a day, we pass Birsula, Vanyarki, Zhmerinka, and Kasatin. The Communists no longer deny the great disaster. The Polish campaign has ended in a complete rout, and Wrangel is driving the Red Army before him. It is claimed that Makhno has joined forces with the counter-revolutionary general. The Soviet papers we occasionally find in the "educational bureau" at the stations brand the povstantsi leader as Wrangel's aid. Familiar with the methods of the Communist press, we do not give credence to the "news," but our anxiety to learn the facts of the situation is increased by the persistent report that England demands the entire withdrawal of the Bolsheviki from the Ukraina.
The approaches to Kiev are blocked, and we are detained twelve versts from the city. Two days of maneuvering bring us at last in visible distance of the passenger station, where we remain for the night. Kiev is being evacuated. A visit to the union headquarters fails to discover any prominent officials: they are preparing to leave in case of "revolutionary necessity." There is much speculation whether the Bolsheviki will release the political prisoners before surrendering the town, as the enemy will undoubtedly execute all revolutionists who fall into its hands. On the streets joy at the departure of the Communists struggles with dread of the hated Poles.
Rising next morning at nine (by the new time; seven by the sun) I am surprised not to find my clothes in their accustomed place. Believing my friends to have played a hoax, I proceed to wake them. All my apparel and personal effects are gone: we have been robbed! The thief evidently entered through the open corridor window; the imprint of his bare feet is still on the rain-softened ground. We are certain the theft was committed by the militsioneri guarding the woodpile about thirty feet from our car. It was a moonlit night. No one could have climbed through the window without being seen by the sentry. In any case, a desperate undertaking, for such acts are now punishable with death. Our interviews with the soldiers, inquiry and investigation fail to throw light on the robbery, and at heart we are glad. The loss, however great, is not worth a human life.
October 2. — Journeying toward Kursk. We still hope to be able to return south by way of Yekaterinoslav, but rumors are persistent of the taking of that city by Wrangel.
Splendid autumn day, clear and sunny. The country is luscious — fields of black soil, primitive forests of oak and fir. But the weather is growing cold, and our car is unheated for lack of dry wood. Our supplies are almost exhausted; even the resourceful culinary art of Emma Goldman is unable to produce meals from an empty larder.
In the evening a rare sunset over the Western slope, the horizon aglow with luminous red. Broad lines of purple afloat on an azure background, its base a light yellow of frayed edges. Now the dense woods hide the sky. I catch glimpses of the paling fire shimmering through the trees. Windmills of ancient Russian type and peasant khati, their roofs straw-covered, sides white-washed, slowly pass by, looking melancholy. Women at work in the fields; children driving a flock of black sheep. A solitary peasant trudges behind a pair of oxen hitched to a plow of primitive design. The country is even, flat, monotonous. It is growing dusk; our candles are exhausted.
In the gathering darkness, our little commune around the table, we exchange reminiscences. Today is the first anniversary of my release from the Federal prison.* A year rich with experience: intense days of anti-conscription agitation and opposition to world slaughter, arrest and detention at Ellis Island, stealthy deportation, and then — Russia and the life of the revolutionary period.
With the touching curiosity of the Russian in all things American our colleagues are absorbed in the story. The skyscraper, that bold striving toward the heights, is the symbol of the far-off world to them. Though theoretically familiar with American industrialism, their faith in that country as "free" is traditional, persistent, and they experience a rude awakening at the recital of the actual facts of our economic and political life. Habituated to thinking the "American" a gentleman of large and noble nature, with a touch of manly irresponsibility almost akin to "interesting madness," they are deeply shocked by the picture of prison existence with its tortures of solitary, underground dungeon, and "bull ring." Under the most cruel Tsarist regime, they assure me, the politicals were accorded •In Atlanta, Georgia, where the author served two years for anti-militarist propaganda.
better treatment even in the worst casemates of Petropavlovsk and Schliisselburg.
"Is it possible," our Secretary asks for the third time, "that in free, cultured America a prisoner may for years be kept in solitary, deprived of exercise and visitors?" * Only one year ago, yet how far it all seems, how removed from the present! Long trains of artillery rush through the darkness: the revolutionary army is routed on all fronts. The soldiers' plaintive song, now Russian, now Ukrainian, grips the heart with heavy sadness, as our train slowly creeps along the flatlands of Northern Ukraina.
October 2t. A clear, cold day. The first snow of the season on the ground, Moscow presents a familiar sight, and I feel at home after our long absence.
Eagerly I absorb the news at the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs. The Twelfth Army has precipitately retreated from Warsaw, but the Poles are not pursuing. It is officially realized now what a serious and costly mistake the campaign was, and how baseless the expectations of a revolution in Poland. It is hoped that a uick peace may be patched up without too great sacrices on the part of Russia. Happier is the news from other fronts. Eastern Siberia has been cleared of the last remnants of Kolchak's army under Ataman Semyonov. In the Crimea Wrangel is almost entirely crushed, not the least share of credit admittedly belonging to Makhno. Far from aiding the counter-revolutionary forces, as had been reported, the povstantsi joined the fight against the White general. This development was the result of a Solitico-military agreement between the Bolsheviki and tfakhno, the main condition of the latter being the * See "Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist," by Alexander Berkman, Mother Earth Publishing Association, New York, 191a.
immediate liberation of the imprisoned Anarchists and Makhnovtsi, and a guarantee of free speech and press for them in the Ukraina. The telegram sent at the time by Makhno requesting the presence of Emma Goldman and myself at the conferences did not reach us. It was not forwarded by the Foreign Office.
Our anxiety about Henry Alsberg is relieved: he is now safely in Riga, having been permitted to leave Russia after his forced return from the south. Albert Boni and Pat Quinlan are in the Tcheka, no definite reason for their detention being assigned. Mrs. Harrison, my erstwhile neighbor in the Kharitonensky, is held as a British spy. Nuorteva, Soviet representative in New York, was deported from the States and is now at the head of the British-American bureau in the Foreign Office. Rosenberg, the bad-tempered and illmannered confidential secretary of Tchicherin, allpowerful and cordially disliked, is about to leave for the Far East, u on an important mission," as he informs me. Incidentally, as if by afterthought, he refers to the "funeral tomorrow," and with a shock I learn of the death of John Reed. The Expedition is to leave this evening for Petrograd, but we decide to postpone our departure in order to pay the last tribute to our dead friend.
A fresh grave along the Kremlin wall, opposite the Red Square, the honored resting place of the revolutionary martyrs. I stand at the brink, supporting Louise Bryant who has entirely abandoned herself to her grief. She had hastened from America to meet Jack after a long separation. Missing him in Petrograd, she proceeded to Moscow only to learn that Reed had been ordered to Baku to the Congress of Eastern Peoples. He had not quite recovered from the effects of his imprisonment in Finland and he was unwilling to undertake the arduous journey. But Zinoviev insisted; it was imperative, he said, to have America represented, and like a good Party soldier Jack obeyed. But his weakened constitution could not withstand the hardships of Russian travel and its fatal infections. Reed was brought back to Moscow critically ill. In spite of the efforts of the best physicians he died on October 16.
The sky is wrapped in gray. Rain and sleet are in the air. Between the speakers' words the rain strikes Jack's coffin, punctuating the sentences as if driving nails into the casket. Clear and rounded like the water drops are the official eulogies falling upon the hearing with dull meaninglessness. Louise cowers on the wet ground. With difficulty I persuade her to rise, almost forcing her to her feet. She seems in a daze, oblivious to the tribute of the Party mourners. Bukharin, Reinstein, and representatives of Communist sections of Europe and America praise the advance guard of world revolution, while Louise is desperately clutching at the wooden coffin. Only young Feodosov, who had known and loved Jack and shared quarters with him, sheds a ray of warmth through the icy sleet. Kollontay speaks of the fine manhood and generous soul that was Jack. With painful sincerity she questions herself-— did not John Reed succumb to the neglect of true comradeship...The Museum is highly pleased with the success of our Expedition. In token of appreciation the Board of Directors requested us to continue our work in the Crimea, now entirely freed from White forces. The mandate for the car has been prolonged till the close of the year.
But the independent, non-partisan character of the Museum activities is apparently displeasing to Communist circles in Moscow. They contend that the capital, rather than Petrograd, should be the home of such an institution. The idea is sponsored, it is said, in opposition to the growing power of Zinoviev. Certain influences are at work to curtail the Museum's sphere of action. With surprise we learn that a special body has been created in the center with exclusive authority to collect material concerning the history of the Russian Communist Party. The new organization, known as the Ispart, by virtue oFits Communist character, claims control over the Museum and has announced its intention of directing future expeditions.
The situation threatens the efficiency of our work. By request of the Museum, I have repeatedly visited Moscow in an endeavor to reach an amicable understanding. Lunatcharsky, with whom I have discussed the matter, admits the justice of our position. But the Ispart continues to assert its supremacy, claims the right to our car, and insists on controlling the expeditions by placing a political commissar in charge.
The attitude of the Ispart is inimical to free initiative and best effort. It is also indicative of a lack of confidence. If persisted in, it would exclude my further cooperation. Under no conditions could I consent to the supervision of a commissar, whose duties are virtually identical with spying and denunciation. Several of my colleagues in the Expedition, including Emma Goldman, share this viewpoint.
During the negotiations it has been suggested that we visit the Far North to gather the historic data of the period of Allied occupation and the Provisional Government of Tchaikovsky. The Ispart professes no interest in the undertaking and foregoes control over it. We welcome the opportunity and decide to make a short journey to Archangel via Moscow, where formalities are to be completed.
In the capital we find our friends in great consternation. The Bolsheviki, it is charged, have treacherously had the povstantsi helped to defeat Wrangel than broken No sooner Trotsky ordered their disarmament. They were surrounded and attacked by Red forces, but succeeded in extricating themselves, and now open warfare has again been declared. Meanwhile the Anarchists, unaware of these developments, had gathered from all parts of the country in Kharkov, where a conference was to be held December ist, in accordance with Makhno's agreement with the Bolsheviki. All of them, together with many local Anarchists, were arrested, among them my friends Volin and Baron, widely known as men of high idealism and revolutionary devotion. The greatest fear is felt for their safety.
CHAPTER XXXVI . IN THE FAR NORTH December, 1920. — Yaroslavl, an ancient city, is picturesque on the banks of the Volga. Very impressive are its cathedrals and monasteries, fine specimens of the architectural art of northeastern Russia of feudal times. But desolate is the sight of the many demolished buildings and churches. On the opposite side of the river the whole district is wrecked by artillery and fire. Dismal reminders of the harrowing days of June, 19 18, when the counter-revolutionary insurrection led by Savinkov, once famous terrorist, was crushed. More than a third of the city was destroyed, its population reduced by half.
The shadow of that tragedy broods darkly over Yaroslavl. The hand laid upon the rebels was so heavy, its imprint is still felt. The people are cowed, terrified at the very mention of the ghastly days of June.
Through Vologda we reach Archangel, at the mouth of the Northern Dvina, almost within the Arctic Circle. The city is situated on the right bank, separated from the railroad station by the river which we cross on foot. The ice is dotted with peasant sleighs, some drawn by reindeer with huge, crooked antlers. The drivers are entirely wrapped in furs, only their narrow dark eyes and flat Lapland noses visible.
The streets are clean, the small frame houses well kept, "We have learned from the Occupation," Kulakov, Chairman of the Ispelkom, comments. He is a young man, tall, clean featured, and of quick intelligenee. The Whites killed his entire family, including his young sister, but Kulakov has preserved his mental balance and humanity.
Comparative order prevails in the Soviet institutions. The long queues so characteristic of Bolshevik managements are almost entirely absent. The natives have acquired method and efficiency; "from the example of the Americans," they frankly admit. There is scarcity of provisions, but the pyock is more equitable, distribution more systematic than elsewhere. The Communists are the dominant factor, but they are encouraging the cooperation of the other elements of the population. Experience has taught them to economize human life. Many former White officers are employed, even in responsible positions. Their services are very satisfactory, I am told; particularly in the schools they are of help. Even monks and nuns have been given opportunity to serve the people. Some art workshops are managed by former inmates of monasteries, still in their religious garb, sewing and embroidering for the children and instructing them in the art.
The orphan homes and asylums we have visited, unannounced, are clean and tidy, the inmates warmly dressed and of healthy appearance, their relations with the teachers very harmonious, even affectionate.
Speculation in food has entirely ceased. The old market place is almost deserted; only small articles of apparel are offered for sale. The distributing Soviet centers still have some of the provisions, mostly canned goods, left by the American Mission, which is remembered with respect, almost with regret. But considerable sentiment is felt against the English, who are charged with political partisanship in the civil struggle of the North. The story is told of the destruction of huge supplies, sunk in the Dvina in the very sight of the starved population, by order of IN THE FAR NORTH General Rollins, who was in charge of the British evacuation.
The cordial cooperation of Kulakov and other Communist officials has enabled us to collect valuable material on the history of the Provisional Government of the Northern District. A pitiful picture it presents of Tchaikovsky, once the "grandfather of the Russian Revolution." Foreswearing his glorious past, he served as the vassal of Kolchak, whom he servilely acknowledged as the "Supreme Ruler of Russia." So impotent, however, was the role of Tchaikovsky that his regime is contemptuously referred to as the "Government of Miller," the commanderin-chief of the counter-revolutionary forces which escaped to Norway soon after the British evacuation.
Though comprising but a small part of the population, the workers of Archangel (about 3,000 out of a total of 50,000) have played a decisive part in the history of the city and district. In the union gatherings I have come in touch with intelligent proletarian groups whose independence and self-reliance is the key to the local situation. Far from "the center" and small in number, the Bolsheviki are vitally dependent on the labor element in the management of affairs. Party dictatorship has been mitigated by the actual participation of the toilers. Their influence is restraining and salutary.
Betchin, the Chairman of the Union Soviet, personifies the history and spirit of the whole revolutionary epoch. Tall and stockily built, of plain speech and convincing honesty, he is typical of the Northern worker. In his person the Provisional Government had sought to suppress the rebellious element of the Archangel proletariat. Popular labor man and member of the local Duma, Betchin was indicted for treason. The central figure of the celebrated trial known by his name, he was condemned to a living death in the terrible prison at Iokange in the frozen North. But his conviction served to consolidate the wavering ranks against the Provisional Government; his name became the slogan of the united opposition. Its rising waves drove the Allies from Archangel and Murmansk, and abolished Tchaikovsky's regime.
With much difficulty I persuaded the modest Betchin to donate his picture and autobiographic sketch to the "revolutionary gallery" of the Museum. His friends informed me that upon his return to prison he insisted that his portraits be removed from the union headquarters. In appreciation of our mission he presented us with the old crimson banner of the Soviet, battle-scarred in numerous campaigns.
"We are working in harmony with the several factions in the unions," Betchin said. "The welfare of the people is our sole aim, and on that platform we can all agree, whatever our political predilections."
With a smile of indulgent reminiscence he admitted his former adherence to the Social-Democrats. "But we have no more Mensheviki here," he hastened to add; "we all joined the Bolsheviki long ago."
"The comrade from the center probably doesn't know how it happened," his assistant remarked. "Revolutionary life sometimes plays curious pranks. You see," he continued, "word had reached us that the Mensheviki and S. R.'s in Moscow had gone over to the Bolsheviki. We decided to do the same. That's how we happen to be Communists now. But the report later proved false," he concluded with a touch of disappointment.
"We have never regretted it," Betchin said soberly.
There is no direct railroad line between Archangel and Murmansk, and we are compelled to make the long journey back to Vologda in order to reach the Coast. In Petrosavodsk we learn that owing to the unusually IN THE FAR NORTH 285 severe snowstorms the trip cannot be undertaken at present. It is Christmas Eve; before the end of the year we are pledged to return to Petrograd. To our great regret the journey further north must be abandoned.
CHAPTER XXXVII EARLY DAYS OF 1 92 1 'The military fronts have been liquidated; civil war is at an end. The country breathes a sigh of relief. The Entente has ceased to finance counter-revolution, but the blockade still continues. It is now generally realized that the hope of near revolution in Europe is visionary. The proletariat of the West, involved in a severe struggle with growing reaction at home, can give no aid to Russia. The Soviet Republic is thrown upon its own resources.
All thoughts are turned to economic reconstruction. Communist circles and the official press are agitated by the discussion of the role of the workers in the present situation. It is admitted that militarization of labor has failed. Far from proving productive, as had been claimed, its effects have been disorganizing and demoralizing. The new part to be assigned to the proletariat is the burning problem, but there is no unity of opinion among the leading Bolsheviki. Lenin contends that the unions are not prepared to manage the industries: their main mission is to serve as "schools of Communism," with gradually increasing participation in the economic field. Zinoviev and his following side with Lenin and elaborate his views. But Trotsky dissents, insisting that the workers will for a long time to come be unfit to manage the industries. He demands a "labor front," subject to the iron discipline of a military campaign. In opposition to this conception, the labor elements advocate the immediate democratization of industrial government. The exclusion of the unions from a decisive role in the economic life, they maintain, is the true cause of EARLY DAYS OF 1921 tKe deplorable situation. They are confident that the revolutionary proletariat, who has defeated all armed opposition, will also conquer the enemy on the economic field. But the workers must be given the opportunity: they will learn by doing.
Throughout the country rages the discussion, on the solution of which depends the economic future Many of the Anarchists arrested in Kharkov on the eve of the suppressed Conference have been brought to Moscow. Some of them are in the Butirki; others are held incommunicado in the "inner jail" of the Tcheka. Volin, A. Baron, and Lea, the wife of my friend Yossif the Emigrant, are among them. Yossif is reported dead. With the consent of the Kharkov authorities, accompanied by two friends, he had gone to the Makhno camp to aid in arranging the conditions of agreement. On the way all three disappeared — killed, it is assumed, just as they entered a village that was being pogromed. There are rumors of Bolshevik responsibility for the tragedy, but I cannot believe them guilty of such treachery.
By the aid of Angelica Balabanova we intercede in behalf of the victims of the broken truce between the Soviet Government and Makhno. Almost all of them come within the Communist definition of ideini Anarchists (of ideas); and Lenin had assured me that the Party is cordially disposed toward them. The efforts of Angelica have secured for me an appointment with Latsis, head of the "Department of Secret Operations" of the Veh-Tcheka, in charge of the cases. But calling at the agreed hour, I am informed that Latsis, aware of the purpose of my visit, had left orders not to admit me.
Still believing in the possibility of establishing more amicable relations between the Soviet Government and (•1 28& THE BOLSHEVIK MYTH the Anarchists, I appealed to influential Communists. The great task of rebuilding the country, I urge, necessitates mutual understanding and cooperation. But my Bolshevik friends scorn the suggestion as Utopian, though some of them are willing to aid in the liberation of certain individuals by serving as their "guarantee." At last I decide to address myself to Lenin. In a written communication I present to him the situation and set forth the reasons — revolutionary, ethical, and utilitarian — for the release of the politicals in the interests of the common cause.
In vain I await a reply. The prison doors remain closed. More arrests take place in various parts of the country.
February is. — Peter Kropotkin died on the 8th instant. Though not entirely unexpected, the news came to me as a great shock. I hastened from Petrograd to Dmitrov, where a number of personal friends of the dead man were already gathered. Almost the entire village accompanied the remains to the train bound for Moscow. Little children strewed the way with pine branches, and touching tribute was paid by the simple country folk to the man beloved in their midst.
The Soviet Government offered to take charge of the funeral, but the family of Kropotkin and his comrades have declined. They feel that Peter, who throughout his life denied the State, should not in death be insulted by its attentions. The Funeral Commission formed by the Moscow Anarchist organizations requested Lenin to permit the imprisoned comrades of the dead to attend the funeral of their friend and teacher. Lenin consented, and the Central Committee of the Party recommended to the Tcheka the temporary release of the Anarchists. Delegated by the Commission to arrange the matter, I was given EARLY DAYS OF 1921 opportunity to visit the prisoners in the Butirki. Over a score of them gathered about me, pale, martyred faces, with eager eyes and palpitating interest in the life they are deprived of.
In the "inner jail' of the Tcheka I was permitted to see A. Baron, the spokesman of the Anarchists imprisoned there. Accompanying me was Yartchuk, himself but recently released. "You'll probably be with us again soon," the magistrate remarked to him with a sardonic grimace.
Owing to the nationalization of all conveyances, printing facilities, and materials, the Commission has been compelled to apply to the Moscow Soviet to enable it to carry out the funeral program. After considerable delay, permission has been secured to issue a one-day, four-page in memoriam paper, but the authorities insist that the manuscripts — though exclusively devoted to appreciations of Kropotkin as scholar, man, and Anarchist — be submitted to censorship.
The Tcheka refused to release the Anarchist prisoners without a guarantee of the Funeral Commission for their return. That guarantee secured, the Extraordinary Commission informed me that "upon examination it was found that there are no Anarchists that could be freed." There followed an intensive exchange of "opinions" between the Moscow Soviet, in the person of Kamenev, its president, and the Tcheka, which has finally resulted in the solemn promise to permit all the imprisoned Moscow Anarchists to attend the funeral.
In the Hall of Columns in the Union House the remains of Peter Kropotkin lie in state. A continuous procession of workers, students, and peasants passes before the bier to pay the last tribute to the dead. Outside a vast mass is waiting to accompany the remains to their resting place. All is in readiness; the requiem has been sung, the time set for starting has already passed. But the Anarchist prisoners have not come. Urgent inquiries at the Tcheka elicit contradictory information: the collective guarantee of the Commission is not satisfactory, we are told — the men refuse to attend the funeral — they have already been released.
It is past noon. The funeral is delayed. It is apparent that the Tcheka is sabotaging our agreement. We decide to protest by demonstratively removing the Government and Communist wreaths from the Hall. The threat of a public scandal quickly brings the authorities to terms, and within a quarter of an hour the seven prisoners of the "inner jail" arrive. We are assured that the Butirki Anarchists have been freed and will presently join us.* The long procession slowly winds its way to the cemetery. The students, arms linked, form a living chain on both sides of the great multitude. The sun is bright upon the hard, glistening snow. Black Anarchist banners, interspersed with flashes of scarlet, flutter above like mournful arms of love.
A Kropotkin Museum is to be founded in memory of the great Anarchist scientist and teacher. The committee of Anarchist organizations in charge of the undertaking has requested Emma Goldman and myself to aid in its organization. Our further cooperation with the Museum of the Revolution has become impossible owing to the arbitrary attitude of the Ispart. Moreover, the Kropotkin work is of greater immediate importance and of stronger appeal to my sympathies. I have severed my connection with the Museum to accept the secretaryship of the Kropotkin Memorial Commission. •At the last moment the Tcheka refused to release them.
CHAPTER XXXVIII Petrograd, February, 1921. — The cold is extreme and there is intense suffering in the city. Snowstorms have isolated us from the provinces; the supply of provisions has almost ceased. Only half a pound of unheated. At dusk old women prowl about the big woodpile near the Hotel Astoria, but the sentry is vigilant. Several factories have been closed for lack of fuel, and the employees put on half rations. They called a meeting to consult about the situation, but the authorities did not permit it to take place.
The Trubotchny millworkers have gone on strike. In the distribution of winter clothing, they complain, the Communists received undue advantage over the non-partisans. The Government refuses to consider the grievances till the men return to work.
Crowds of strikers gathered in the street near the mills, and soldiers were sent to disperse them. They were kursanti, Communist youths of the military academy. There was no violence.
Now the strikers have been joined by the men from the Admiralty shops and Galernaya docks. There is much resentment against the arrogant attitude of the Government. A street demonstration was attempted, but mounted troops suppressed it.
February 2J. — Nervous feeling in the city. The strike situation is growing more serious. The Patronny mills, the Baltiysky and Laferm factories have sus- •An exhaustive study of the Kronstadt tragedy, with the documents pertaining to it, will be found in the author's brochure, "The Kronstadt Rebellion," published by Der Syndicalist, Berlin, 1922.
houses are pended operations. The authorities have ordered the strikers to resume work. Martial law in the city. The special Committee of Defense (Komitet Oboroni) is vested with exceptional powers, Zinoviev at its head.
At the Soviet session last evening a military member of the Defense Committee denounced the strikers as traitors to the Revolution. It was Lashevitch. He looked fat, greasy, and offensively sensuous. He called the dissatisfied workers "leeches attempting extortion" (shkurniki), and demanded drastic measures against them. The Soviet passed a resolution locking out the men of the Trubotchny mill. It means deprivation of rations — actual starvation.
February 28, — Strikers' proclamations have appeared on the streets today. They cite cases of workers found frozen to death in their homes. The main demand is for winter clothing and more regular issue of rations. Some of the circulars protest against the suppression of factory meetings. "The people want to take counsel together to find means of relief," they state. Zinoviev asserts the whole trouble is due to Menshevik and Social Revolutionist plotting.