History of the Soviet Union

The non-Bolshevik political parties were too restrained and disorganized to offer effective articulation to the movement. All the same, some dissident Mensheviks managed to organize in Petrograd a so-called Extraordinary Assembly of Delegates from Works and Factories, which met in March 1918. It is not clear how the assembly was elected, but it did contain a number of working-class activists of 1917, especially from among the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries. Their speeches gave abundant evidence of renewed discontent among the workers: at hunger, unemployment, the closure and evacuation of factories–the capital had just been moved to Moscow–at arbitrary arrests by the Cheka, and the muzzling of the soviets. Above all, the workers felt powerless: they no longer had any institutions speaking for them. The factory committees were turning into obedient organs of government, the trade unions were no longer in a position to protect their interests, the soviets would no longer permit them to recall delegates of whom they disapproved in order to choose new ones. ‘Wherever you turn’, complained one worker delegate, ‘you come across armed people who look like bourgeois and treat the workers like dirt. Who they are we don’t know.’ In general, they felt that they had been promised bread and peace, but given food shortages and civil war; they had been promised freedom and given something nearer to slavery. The assembly called for the resignation of Sovnarkom, the repudiation of the Brest-Litovsk Treaty and the reconvocation of the Constituent Assembly.

The Assembly movement did spread to other parts of Russia, and organized a number of stoppages and protests directed against Communist policy. It looks as if the movement mainly attracted workers from sectors such as metalworking and armaments, which had suffered particularly severe dislocation at the end of the war. The assembly’s debates reflect the alarm and disorientation of such workers. On the other hand, many workers continued to identify ‘soviet power’ with the Communists, seeing them as their best hope in a bewildering and dangerous world. In June 1918 the Communists received working-class support in the elections to the Petrograd Soviet, while the general strike called by the assembly on 2 July fizzled out. Its failure was partly due to increased governmental pressure. The whole Moscow bureau of the Extraordinary Assembly was arrested, and the Red Army cordoned off the entire Nevsky district of Petrograd (the southern industrial area where the assembly was especially strong) and declared martial law there.

By the summer of 1918, though many, perhaps most workers were profoundly disillusioned with Communist rule, they had no convincing alternative to which to look. This may account for the haphazard and inconclusive nature of their activity, compared with the previous year. Most, in any case, were more preoccupied with survival. In 1917 they had felt themselves to be on an upswing, creating the future through the new democratic institutions they had themselves brought into being. Now they had ostensibly achieved their aims, yet were faced by poverty, insecurity and oppression such as they had never known before. The institutions they had created were now being used against them. Of the two political parties who might have articulated and channelled their grievances, the Mensheviks had pledged themselves to strictly legal activities through the soviets, while the Socialist Revolutionaries were divided and ambivalent about whether to oppose the Bolsheviks outright. One Menshevik summed up the workers’ political mood in June 1918 as follows: ‘To hell with you all, Bolsheviks, Mensheviks, and the whole of your political claptrap.’

This disillusionment and uncertainty, combined with the increasing repression now being applied by the Communists, probably explain the failure of the Assembly movement. On 21 July, the Cheka finally arrested all 150 participants at a congress and took them to the Lubyanka, where they were accused of plotting against the Soviet government and threatened with the death penalty. In the event, however, they were all gradually released over the next few months. The age of rigged trials against supporters of the October revolution had not quite arrived.

The workers were not again able to mount such a widespread challenge to Communist rule, but their voting behaviour in the soviets during 1919–21 showed the extent to which they had become disillusioned. Some of their support went to the Mensheviks, who maintained a strong presence in the trade unions, especially among the printers. The Mensheviks also sent an increasing number of delegates to the soviets, even though they were banned from them for several months after June 1918. Even after they were readmitted they faced constant official harassment: the candidates would be detained shortly before an election, or Menshevik votes would be disqualified on technical grounds. Since soviet voting was by show of hands, moreover, it was easy for Menshevik voters to be victimized. In view of all this, it is a tribute to their tenacity that they still had any deputies at all in the soviets: one or two were elected as late as 1922, after which the party’s Central Committee (or its surviving members in emigration) forbade further participation in soviet elections, as too dangerous for the voters. By that time, anyway, all the party’s leaders still inside Russia had been arrested by the Cheka. The Mensheviks’ main political activity thereafter was to publish an émigré journal, Sotsialisticheskii vestnik (The Socialist Herald), which evidently claimed an extensive network of correspondents inside the country: over the next decade it published abundant accounts of working-class life in the Soviet Union, which are invaluable to historians.

The working-class movement was also, of course, gravely weakened by hunger, poverty and the drain of so many town-dwellers. By 1921 the industrial working population was at about a third of its 1917 level, and was poorer in every respect. The Communists had their own ideas about how to restore this supposed social base of their rule. To absorb soldiers coming out of the Red Army at the end of the civil war, the Central Committee resolved early in 1920 to convert certain army units into ‘labour armies’–thus the Third Army became the First Labour Army. The railways and certain key industrial enterprises were placed under military discipline, and political commissars from the Red Army were brought in to replace trade union officials. ‘Labour soldiers’ felled trees, cleared roads, rebuilt bridges and restored railway lines. All this was supposed to facilitate the transition to a peacetime planned economy, without the disruption which demobilization would have brought. Some Communists thought that in any case the ‘labour army’ was the appropriate industrial unit in a socialist society. ‘In a proletarian state, militarization is the self-organization of the working class,’ proclaimed Trotsky. And in an Order of the Day he exhorted them, ‘Begin and complete your work … to the sound of socialist songs and anthems. Your work is not slave labour but high service to the socialist fatherland.’

Not everyone agreed. The Workers’ Opposition (see below, pages 89–90) were strongly resistant to the idea, and in the great crisis of February-March 1921 (pages 90–2) Lenin came over to their way of thinking (on this issue alone). Apart from the enormous resentment the labour armies aroused among soldiers who wanted to get back home, their actual work achievements were unimpressive. In 1921 they were abolished.

By 1921, the Communists were the only significant political force in Soviet Russia. They were also an enormously important social force. Most of the other classes of Russian society had been destroyed or gravely weakened in the revolution and civil war–even the working class in whose name the Communists ruled. In the absence of any ruling class, the full-time officials of the Communist Party and the Soviet state came closest to fulfilling that function. Of course they could not yet be regarded as a social class in the full sense: their power and their institutions were as yet embryonic, likewise their customs and their culture, and they certainly had not devised a means of perpetuating their power and privilege. In many ways the history of Soviet Russia might be regarded as the history of their efforts to extend this embryonic power and privilege into a permanent, secure and accepted acquisition, such as any ruling class expects to have.

Anyone who had known the Bolsheviks in February, or even October, 1917, would have found them in many ways difficult to recognize in 1921. In February they had been a party of underground and exile, small, loosely organized (in spite of Lenin’s principles), quarrelsome, but lively, spontaneous, and beginning to make real contact with the mass of the population, especially the workers and soldiers. In October the party still looked much the same, though by then it had perhaps ten times as many members, and close contact with the mass of workers and soldiers, to whose aspirations it was far more sensitive than any other party at the time. By 1921, it had changed in almost every respect. It now had a mass membership, including many who were in it for careerist reasons; it was tightly organized, rigid, intolerant of divergent views, and out of touch with the mass of the people, indeed regarded by most of them with resentment and fear. The Tenth Party Congress in March 1921 sanctified the final stages of this transformation.

What had made this difference? Basically it had been the experience of holding power and of conducting a civil war; and both those experiences had resulted directly from Lenin’s decision to go it alone in seizing power in October.

The most obvious external change was the growth in membership. After their rapid rise in 1917, numbers grew a further three- to fourfold by March 1921, when officially membership stood at nearly three quarters of a million. The climb had been by no means smooth. There was, for example, a considerable influx immediately after October, but then a large-scale exodus, probably mainly of workers disillusioned with Bolshevik rule. Growth resumed during the civil war as Red Army soldiers joined, but there were also periodic ‘purges’ designed to weed out the half-hearted, the corrupt and the merely careerist.

These ups and downs reflected in part anxiety in the leadership about their rank and file. Membership policy was dictated by two considerations which were in tension with one another. The Communists were unequivocally the ruling party, but on the other hand they also called themselves a mass party. Now, ruling parties inevitably have many members who, whatever their social origin, become unmistakably middle-class in their lifestyle. With the working-class base fading away, and the peasants increasingly alienated by the party, it constantly faced the threat of becoming largely a party of officials. Between 1917 and 1921 working-class membership reportedly sank from 60 per cent to 40 per cent. In reality, it probably fell a good deal further than that, since many who declared themselves workers were actually by now administrators, commissars, Red Army commanders and the like. Indeed, party records show that in October 1919 only 11 per cent of members were actually working in factories, and even some of them were in administrative posts.

Another natural result of numerical growth was that the proportion of pre-October Bolsheviks declined. In the summer of 1919 it was discovered that only one fifth of the members had been in the party since before the revolution. This proportion must have declined further thereafter. The formative experience of most Communists was no longer the revolutionary struggle in the factories (still less the deprivations and theoretical wrangles of underground and exile), but rather the fighting of the civil war. The archetypal Communist was no longer a shabbily dressed intellectual, but rather a leather-jacketed commissar with a Mauser at his hip, and promotion in party ranks now tended to go to the poorly educated, theoretically unsophisticated, direct, resourceful, often brutal types who had risen to prominence in the Red Army. If they were of worker or peasant origin–and most were–they were only too glad to have risen beyond it. It would be too much to say that the party now became militarist in outlook, but it is true that most party officials were by now used to solving problems by willpower, effort and coercion. This wartime experience reinforced Lenin’s dictum that politics was essentially about who defeats whom (kto kogo).

The civil war and the experience of power also profoundly affected the party’s internal organization. If in 1917 it had been possible for Sverdlov and Stasova, in the Secretariat, to handle all the party leadership’s correspondence and to keep the membership records more or less in their heads, that was clearly no longer satisfactory once the party had governmental responsibility. All the same, it took quite a long time before the party’s structure assumed clearly defined forms, and for a year or more after October improvization was often the order of the day.

When it did come, the hardening of the party’s institutional structure owed as much to pressure from below as from above, as emerges clearly from recent research by Robert Service. During the emergencies of the civil war, local party organizations often found themselves desperately short of capable organizers, since their best men had gone off to fight. They were only too glad to be sent emissaries or instructions from the Central Committee in Moscow. Local party secretaries, deprived of colleagues or assistants, would take important decisions themselves: party meetings would become perfunctory formalities, with resolutions passed ‘at a cavalry gallop’, as someone complained. The practice of electing party officials, and of seriously discussing alternative candidates and policies, withered away. It became the norm for officials and committees to be appointed from the next higher level, and for commissars from the centre to arrive in an emergency and take all the really important decisions.

Of course, all this suited Lenin’s leadership style–and Trotsky’s too, for that matter. Both men were used to dealing with local difficulties by firing off peremptory telegrams cutting through Gordian knots. What happened now was that their instinctive authoritarianism received institutional form.

This meant that, especially at the medium and upper levels of the party, a stratum of full-time officials was emerging, whose main function, given the grip the party now had over the soviets and the Red Army, was simply the exercise of power. At the very top, 1919 also saw further hardening of the structures, owing both to the war and to Sverdlov’s death in March. The Central Committee, currently a body of nineteen full members and eight candidates, was already too large for speedy decision-making, and the Eighth Party Congress (March 1919) set up a Political Bureau (or Politburo) of five to do this. Its initial five members were Lenin, Trotsky, Stalin, Kamenev and Krestinsky. Alongside it an Orgburo was installed to concentrate on the organizational and personnel work of the Central Committee, and this soon developed a formidable array of files and card indices on cadres (as the party’s staff came to be called) all over the country. Originally there were only two joint members of the Politburo and Orgburo: Krestinsky and Stalin. The Secretariat was also now formalized to conduct the party’s correspondence and deal with ‘current questions of an organizational and executive character’, the Orgburo being entrusted with ‘the general direction of the organizational work’. In practice these two bodies had overlapping functions. Stalin did not move into the Secretariat until 1922, but when he did so, he not only took charge of it as General Secretary, but also became the only man to sit on all three of the party’s directive committees.

From the outset, the new bodies, especially the Politburo, took over much of the de facto power of the Central Committee. In theory the latter was supposed to meet once a fortnight, but during the rest of 1919 it met less than half that often, while between April and November the Politburo held 29 separate meetings, and 19 joint ones with the Orgburo, while the latter met no less than 110 times on its own.

The party’s relationship with the rest of society was also beginning to take shape. The party rules passed in December 1919 laid down that, where there were three or more party members in any organization whatever, they had the duty to form a party cell ‘whose task it is to increase party influence in every direction, carry out party policies in non-party milieux, and effect party supervision over the work of all the organizations and institutions indicated’. To ensure that suitable people were selected for this authoritative role, the Ninth Party Congress recommended party committees at all levels to keep lists of employees suitable for particular kinds of work and for promotion within their field. Such lists, coordinated and extended by the Secretariat, became the nucleus of the nomenklatura system of appointments, not just in the party, but in all walks of life.

Not everyone in the party approved of these developments. Some prominent members, not in the top leadership, were disturbed by them, feeling that they ran counter to the ideals which had brought the party to power. Two groups in particular emerged during 1919–20. The Democratic Centralists called for restoration of the ‘democratic’ element in Lenin’s theory of party organization: that is, the restoration of genuine elections and genuine debate over matters of principle. The Workers’ Opposition were worried by what they saw as the ‘growing chasm’ between the workers and the party which claimed to act in their name. They spoke in the language Lenin had used in October 1917, calling for ‘self-activity of the masses’, and proposing specifically that industry should be run by the trade unions, rather than by the managers and specialists that the government had installed under Vesenkha. Alexandra Kollontai, the most flamboyant and imaginative member of this group, argued that what had taken the place of ‘self-activity’ was ‘bureaucracy’, buttressed by the system of appointments within the party, and she therefore also urged a return to genuine elections and spontaneous debate by the rank and file. Although fundamental research on this issue still needs to be done, it does seem that the Workers’ Opposition had substantial support among the industrial workers.

Before binding discussion of these issues took place, however, the party was faced by a crisis even more threatening to its ideals than the civil war. Towards the end of February 1921, first of all in Moscow, then in Petrograd, strikes and demonstrations broke out among the industrial workers. Their immediate cause was a further cut in the bread ration, but the workers’ demands rapidly took on a political colouring as well, and began to reflect the effects of more than three years of hunger and repression. The demands, in fact, were remarkably similar to those being made at the same time by the peasants of Tambov province (see above, page 77). The workers called for free trade, an end to grain requisitioning, and abolition of the privileges and extra rations enjoyed by specialists and by Bolshevik officials. Their political demands reflected the influence of both the Socialist Revolutionaries and the Mensheviks, who were regaining popularity, despite their semi-legal status: freedom of speech, press and assembly, the restoration of free elections to factory committees, trade unions and soviets, an amnesty for socialist political prisoners. There were some calls for the reconvening of the Constituent Assembly.

Zinoviev, the party leader in Petrograd, closed down some of the most affected factories (in effect instituting a ‘lockout’) and declared martial law in the city. Special troops and kursanty (Red Army officer cadets) were drafted in and posted to key positions. Selected workers and the most prominent Socialist Revolutionaries and Mensheviks were arrested. At the same time emergency supplies were rushed into the city, road blocks were dismantled, and Zinoviev let it be known that there were plans to abolish grain requisitioning.

These measures did eventually quieten the Petrograd disorders, but not before they had spread to the nearby naval base of Kronstadt, where the Baltic Fleet had its head-quarters. The sailors of Kronstadt had a long revolutionary tradition, dating back to 1905, when a soviet had first been set up there. They had played a vital part in the October seizure of power. Central to the anarchism which had been the dominant mood in Kronstadt was the original conception of the soviet as a free and self-governing revolutionary community. This ideal of course had been unceremoniously pushed aside by the Bolsheviks, and now, more than a year after the virtual end of the civil war, there was still no sign of an improvement.

A delegation of sailors went to meet the Petrograd workers and reported back to a general meeting of the sailors on 1 March. In spite of the presence of Mikhail Kalinin (president of the Russian Soviet Republic), the meeting unanimously passed a resolution which repeated the demands of the Petrograd workers (though there was no mention of the Constituent Assembly). Pride of place was given to the following demand: ‘In view of the fact that the present soviets do not express the will of the workers and peasants, immediately to hold new elections by secret ballot, the pre-election campaign to have full freedom of agitation among the workers and peasants.’

The Soviet government reacted forthwith by declaring the Kronstadt movement ‘a counterrevolutionary conspiracy’. They claimed it was led by one General Kozlovsky–who was actually one of Trotsky’s numerous appointees from the former Imperial Army, sent to take charge of the Kronstadt artillery. The Communists appointed their own army commander, Tukhachevsky, to head a special task force and storm the fortress across the ice before the March thaw. Once again, special duty troops and kursanty were used, in larger numbers. On 17 March they finally stormed Kronstadt, capturing it with huge losses on both sides. These were compounded on the rebel side by the subsequent repression, in which the Cheka shot hundreds of those involved.

Assembling under the direct shadow of these events, the Tenth Party Congress took some decisions which confirmed the rigid centralization the party had developed since 1917. Lenin admitted that the Kronstadt revolt had awakened echoes in many industrial towns, and warned that this ‘petty bourgeois counterrevolution’ was ‘undoubtedly more dangerous than Denikin, Yudenich and Kolchak combined’. He admitted, too, that relations between the party and the working class were poor: much more ‘solidarity and concentration of forces’ was required, he exhorted. He submitted two resolutions, one explicitly condemning the Workers’ Opposition as a ‘syndicalist and anarchist deviation’, the other, entitled ‘On Party Unity’, condemning the practice of forming ‘factions’ and ordering that all future proposals, criticisms and analyses be submitted for discussion, not by closed groups, but by the party as a whole. ‘The Congress orders the immediate dissolution, without exception, of all groups that have been formed on the basis of some platform or other, and instructs all organizations to be very strict in ensuring that no manifestations of factionalism of any sort be tolerated. Failure to comply with this resolution of the Congress is to entail unconditional and immediate expulsion from the party.’ Such was the besieged mood at the Congress that these resolutions were passed by overwhelming majorities, which even included members of the Workers’ Opposition. One of the delegates, Karl Radek, made a portentous and perceptive comment: ‘In voting for this resolution I feel that it can well be turned against us, and nevertheless I support it … Let the Central Committee in a moment of danger take the severest measures against the best party comrades if it finds this necessary... That is less dangerous than the wavering which is now observable.’

No less important was the justification which Lenin gave for the suppression of all opposition parties, as was now finally done. ‘Marxism teaches us that only the political party of the working class, i.e. the Communist Party, is capable of uniting, educating and organizing such a vanguard of the proletariat and of the working masses as is capable of resisting the inevitable petty bourgeois waverings of those masses … [and] their trade union prejudices.’