The Hope of Russia

I

IT takes a bold man to dare a forecast of the road which Russia will find out of her difficulties. A writer in a recent issue of a popular periodical staked his reputation as a prophet upon the prognosis of a split into a Russian state in Europe and a Kolchak Siberia in Asia. He based his conclusion, first, upon a geographical cleavage. The Siberians are ‘cut off from the mother country by natural land divisions.’ ‘The map shows northern Asia cut off from Europe by a chain of mountains, the Urals, that extend to the limits of the land.’ Although this is approximately true as a matter of geography, it amounts to nothing practically, because along the two railroads the Urals are a negligible quantity. Having crossed them twice, and driven through a part of them, I found them, except for some distant summits, hardly deserving the name of hills. This applies to the region along the line from Chelyabinsk to Ufa. ‘On the road from Perm to the east it [the slope] is scarcely perceptible.’ Furthermore, the RussiaSiberia border does not follow the Ural Mountains throughout their course. Where the population is densest along the political boundary, the Urals are several hundred versts to the west. The ‘ natural-land-divisions ’ theory is a figment of the imagination.

Another argument of this author declares that the people ‘have also come to feel that Siberia is something apart from Russia’; but ten months of residence there, punctuated with daily interviews with representatives of all classes, from Admiral Kolchak to roadside peasants, never brought me into touch with a single person who either in the remotest way hinted at possessing this separative feeling or suggested such a possibility as a divided country. Not even among the motley array of foreigners cocksure of the future — and Siberia holds its share of them — did I run across one who entertained such an opinion. In some respects Siberia is more typically All-Russian than the mother-country itself, because, first, the Great War, and second, the Bolshevist régime, drove into its cities and villages people from all over European Russia; who are becoming welded together by common interests, and are having the dividing lines due to race and former spatial separation smoothed out. Thus something like a united Russian people and consciousness is being slowly created. Hundreds of thousands of these folk own land in their former habitats and intend to return home, where they will carry the unifying forces developed during their Siberian sojourn. So far as the Kolchak government is concerned, it has never contemplated anything short of a reunited Russia.

One more remark of this writer deserves a word: ‘The country was too big and too unacquainted with itself to hold a popular election; the situation [evidently the summer of 1918 is alluded to] was too critical to trust to a ballot, when eighty per cent of the people could not have read and would not have known how to mark one.’ But already in 1917 this electorate, with that in Russia, had in universal, secret, direct, and equal ballot, at what has been called ‘the greatest and most democratic election ever held on earth, ’ chosen a most remarkable group of representatives to the first Constituent Assembly. It had also elected its own Siberian Duma, charged with the duty of setting up a local government for Siberia as one of the constituent states of the great Russian Republic.

Now, all of the foregoing is offered, not in denial of the possibility of a division into two independent governments, — Russia and Siberia, — as the outcome of the present chaos, for anything is possible in such a fermenting process as is now going on in that country; but merely to show that the considerations urged in its favor will hardly bear scrutiny. It is very easy to fancy that one sees what one is predisposed to look for in a kaleidoscope like Siberia. Every interpreter of conditions there needs the grace of a large consciousness of an erring personal equation. A number of these snap conclusions, which form the stock in trade of almost all recently arrived foreigners, and not a few long residents whom one encounters in that fascinating country, have been exported and have prejudiced the judgment of some Americans at home.

One of these is that ‘the Russian has no organizing ability.’ In the early weeks of my administration of the department of civilian relief in Vladivostok, not a few circumstances which favored such a generalization compelled my attention. The local government was in a semi-chaotic condition — as indeed there was ample cause for its being, with Japanese, American, British, French, Italian, and Chinese expeditionary forces and military missions insisting on having fingers in the political pie, and none of them coördinated to any definite policy, except the Japanese, who knew what they wanted and promptly grabbed it whenever possible. Not much dependence could be placed upon the word of men in charge of local affairs, especially when that charge was largely a misnomer. Accurate information was very hard to secure. Everything was at sixes and sevens.

But wider acquaintance with the facts of the situation advised patience in drawing conclusions. It was necessary, first of all, to abdicate the habit of seeing through the spectacles of a well-ordered social consciousness. The conviction soon developed that rightly to judge the Russian after his experience of struggle for life with Germany, the most titanic power this world ever knew; of the sudden awakening to a régime of liberty supervening upon ages of despotic rule; and then of the awful submergence of that régime in an abyss of hellishness absolutely unique in human history, was a task demanding all the powers of the most highly trained judicial mind. The overwhelming impression remaining after months of intimacy with Siberian conditions was that of a vast organism from which the binding force had been largely dissolved. There was an almost utter lack of social cement. Men did not trust one another; they could not. Dread, nameless dread, was everywhere, and out of the nightmare of all the months since 1914 a new object of fear, Japan, was crystallizing as these remorseless militarists of the Far East pushed their silent campaign of absorption, profiteering, and international pawnbrokerage, while the Allies, whom alone the Russians had supposed they could trust, had abandoned them to Bolshevism on the one hand, and reactionary monarchism on the other.

Once get the point of view of the liberty-loving Russian, and the scene his country presented was maddening. His financial ship was beached on the Isle of Shoals in a howling easter. Commerce was nil, because there was nothing to buy. The transportation system was in the hands of robber bandits like Semyonov, or of Czechs or Japanese, or Allied commanders. These helpers invaded his cities and commandeered the best buildings for their troops or their nationals, or the Red Cross, and therefrom flew their motley flags. Disorganization was everywhere, and the government had neither money nor munitions with which to overcome the incubus of allies who ought to have helped, but too often merely cursed; for soldiers quartered in a foreign land, who have nothing to do, are apt to become a menace both to themselves and to those who surround them. All of this certainly formed a poor stage for the exhibition of organizing genius.

II

But, amid it all, unseen by the average observer, one of the most remarkable social agencies in the world was being steadily built into larger proportions. Back in 1865 the first coöperative association was formed in Russia. Tsarism frowned upon the infant, and in thirty years, or in 1894, it had grown to number only 353 coöperatives. But with the world-war and the breakdown of the government transportation system, the aid of these societies of coöperators was welcomed, and they saved the situation by furnishing both the army and the civil population with food. At the same time they began to unify their organization. Since 1916 they have accomplished nothing less than a miracle. In Siberia three great amalgamations have developed to enormous proportions. They are, first, the Zakoopsbit, or Union of Consumers’ Unions, formed in 1916, with an annual turnover (figures for 1917) of more than 250,000,000 roubles, and losses of 46,000 covered by a gross profit of 573,912; second, the Union of Siberian Creamery Associations, with more than 1400 creameries and an annual business of 160,000,000 roubles; and, third, the Sincred Sayus, or Union of Siberian Credit Coöperatives, dating from 1917, which embraces more than 4000 credit — or loan — banks which finance local coöperatives and unions. All these institutions are embraced in the Vcerko Soviet, or Congress of Coöperative Unions of Siberia. Besides this, the Consumers’ Unions of Siberia, and some of the larger individual associations, head up together with those of Russia in the Centro-Sayus, or Moscow Union of Consumers’ Societies; while the Moscow Narodny Bank is the central banking institution for all the credit unions of Russia and Siberia.

Still more comprehensive, and uniting all those named above, stands the Vcerko Sayus, or Congress of all the Russian Coöperatives. There are embraced in this organization no less than 45,000 coöperative societies, representing 90,000,000 Russian citizens, of whom 11,000,000 are in Siberia. And the larger part of this work has been done since the revolution of 1917. While I was in Omsk this spring, all the Siberian coöperatives pooled their educational work in the only coöperative union of consumers of education in the world — the Altai Educational Coöperative Union. This marvel of social organization has been engineered by Russians, many of them peasants, and much of it during the terribly depressing days when the Bolsheviki have been holding power and have been discouraging, as far as they have dared, this great people’s experiment. For the one feature of Russia’s economy with which Lenin and Trotsky have not had the courage to tamper has been the coöperative movement, although they have regarded it with the same negative favor that Nicolas II exhibited. My opinion is that the Russian has as much genius for organizing as the next man. All he needs is a chance.

A second sentiment expressed to me by strangers in Siberia as well as by reactionary Russians was, ‘The peasant cannot be trusted with the ballot.’ In 1864 Alexander II established the Zemstvos. From that date until about 1890 these were comprised of three groups of electors, determined, speaking generally, on the basis of property ownership, and giving to the gentry about 43 per cent of the deputies, about 38 per cent to the peasants, and about 19 per cent to all others in the population. After 1890 the lines were drawn to represent social classes more accurately. The gentry secured 57 per cent of the seats, the peasants 30 per cent, and all others, excepting the clergy, 13 per cent. After instituting these popular assemblies and assigning to them the levying and collection of rates, construction and care of roads, oversight of local charities, and of relief in years of crop-shortage, public sanitation, the quartering of soldiers, direction of firecontrol, and the management of popular education, the Tsar’s government became insanely suspicious and fearful of its creatures, and for two generations tried to curtail the privileges it had granted them. Nevertheless, as Professor Vinagradoff has pointed out, ‘It would be not only wrong, but absurd, to disparage the immense work achieved by the Zemstvos in an exceedingly short space of time. The wonder is, not that they were hampered and distracted, but that they achieved so much. It is not an exaggeration to say that a new age was initiated by their activity in Russia.’

For half a century, then, from 1864 until the world-war, the peasants of Russia proper had been trained in the art of choosing wise men to represent them. The character of this school of civics was not to develop politicians among the people, but to lead the electors to select men who could by their wisdom and patience allay the suspicions of the Tsar’s advisers and accomplish something positive for the common good. And it is the universal testimony that the peasants learned to choose the kind of men worthy of their confidence.

Because my duties confined me almost entirely to Siberia, I saw very little of the results of this process in European Russia, where alone the Zemstvos existed until the time of Kerensky, in 1917. It was then that the Zemstvos were first set up in Siberia, to be ruthlessly overthrown by the Bolsheviki and reëstablished after the expulsion of the latter in 1918. But I was frequently called upon to consult with men elected to the Zemstvos by the peasants, and to the city Dumas (assemblies) by town-folk. These men seemed the most reliable, and from the standpoint of character the most substantial, of all the classes of persons I encountered in that country. The same impression, I was told, was produced upon the chief of the American Expeditionary Force, and, according to his own statement, to me, upon Mr. George S. Phelps, the head of the Y.M.C.A. in Siberia. The Russian peasant has been trained to elect men whom he can trust with the community’s affairs, and when transported to Siberia by emigration or government action, as well as when born there, the experience gained by himself or his forbears in Russia serves to direct his civic activity in the newer country.

I cannot escape the conviction that the safest man to whom to intrust the ballot to-day in Russia is the peasant. He wants most of all public security and good government. This word has come to me from him again and again. And he knows from whom of his kind he may expect the sort of government that will attend to the civic housekeeping he most desires and needs. This was well proved by the character of the representatives sent by him to the Constituent Assembly which the Bolsheviki dissolved. The little which that Assembly attempted showed its calibre, and made the crime of Lenin and Trotsky all the blacker.

About the middle of the last century, a fantastic soul named Constantine Aksakoff, an author of considerable repute, wrote a comedy entitled Prince Lupovitshy. The hero, burning to civilize the peasants on his estate, discloses his ambition to two of his gentry friends. One of them, a Count Dobinsky, exclaims: ‘Our peasants! Are they men? Do you know what their destiny is? They exist that we, the intelligentsia, may enjoy all the pleasures of civilization. That is more than enough of an honor for them.’

A second, Baron Salutin, breaks in. ‘You will want an iron hand. Make the peasants into paste and then knead it as you like.’

These sentiments still exist among the reactionary intelligentsia, some of whom, ranged behind that honest democratic leader, Admiral Kolchak, have been making his task all the harder. ‘The peasant must be ruled with a big stick. They need an iron hand over them,’ has been said to me more than once by Russians of charming personality. ‘ Twenty years of repression, and then we can give them the ballot,’ is another point of view, shared, I regret to say, by not a few foreigners long resident there. But in Aksakoff’s play, Lupovitsky, after getting close to his peasants, is impressed with the common sense and moral standard of the Mir, the Village Community, and ends by saying, ‘I shall leave with the greatest respect for the peasant.’

III

The war called not a few social workers into Russia and Siberia, whose knowledge of the peasant has been gained by several years of constant association with him. Their experience has been that the peasant responds to kindness like every other well-ordered human being; that there is an immense capacity in him for coöperative effort, and that unselfish leadership finds him a rare follower.

A few weeks ago, one of Russia’s patriots, General Boldyreff, said, ‘This idea of refusing to permit the people to have any hand in the control of their own affairs is based upon the theory which is entertained by some Russians, and most unfortunately, finds support abroad, that the Russian people are backward, and for their own good must be governed by force, with all the privileges enjoyed by the people of the West and the more progressive of the East, withheld from them until they are regarded as mature enough to be trusted.

‘It is not true that the Russian people are unable to govern themselves in a democratic way. This people has lived through four years of war, for which they mobilized sixteen million men and paid far heavier sacrifices in life than any of their allies, and they could not have remained blind to the events of the war and could not have helped judging what they desire for the future in the light of the past and the present.

‘The coöperation of the Russian people is not only needed by the leaders, but is most essential to them, in fact, from the point of view of having the people generally share the responsibility, and thus lessen the burden now being borne by these leaders. It should be given them now for the reason that it will enable them to learn how to exercise their rights through their experiences at this most critical time. They will learn now, through the stern necessities of the times, to distinguish between those things that are mere words and only idle appeals, and those things that are to be applied in a practical way to their lives. Give the people their rights and they will soon learn to use them.’

These are the words of one of the great generals who kept the German hordes at bay, who in the Revolution became a trusted popular leader, and whom the members of the Constituent Assembly who escaped from Petrograd and gathered in Ufa in 1918 elected to the directorate of the All-Russian government, the only democratically elected government Eastern Russia and Siberia have had. The reactionary coup d’état which placed Admiral Kolchak in power ended this government and practically exiled General Boldyreff.

If there be anything that can be taken as bedrock politically in Russia, it seems to be that the Russian people are capable of self-government. Indeed, the progress of events since the beginning of June, has been eloquent of this conviction. At that time, the forces of reaction behind Admiral Kolchak had decided that the Sibzemgor, the Union of Zemstvos and City Dumas of Siberia, should not be allowed to meet and organize. This decision was a blow keenly felt by the people all over the country.

Reverses at the front now set in, and the Bolsheviki in short order pushed back the Siberian army until the situation became very grave. Desertions of bodies of Kolchak’s troops to the enemy increased, and it soon was apparent that, unless ardent popular support could be secured, the Siberian government was doomed. By early July, the decision was taken by the cabinet to authorize the meeting of the Sibzemgor.¹ Next, Admiral Kolchak issued a stirring appeal to the Siberian people to rally about his government.

‘We are fighting for the national Russian cause; for the regeneration of Russia; for her unification and indivisibility. We are fighting for the rights of our nation; for the right to decide, through a Constituent Assembly, freely chosen by the people, the administration of the State; to decide the agrarian question; and to improve the life of the workmen.’ This appeal went on to point out the failure of Bolshevism to fulfill its promises, as well as its crimes against liberty and the consequent necessity of annihilating it. It showed the impossibility of summoning a Constituent Assembly, representing the entire nation, until Bolshevism should be wiped off the slate. ‘The struggle is for free Russia and for the rights of the people. We must be victorious or die. There is no other choice.’ The Admiral reminded the peasants that in the history of Russia the people have always united in critical moments and found in themselves the strength to save the country.

It is worthy of remark that this state paper contained the first pledge of a Constituent Assembly made by Admiral Kolchak. He had always before talked publicly of a national assembly based on universal suffrage, to which he would turn over his power when he had pacified Russia.

This impressive declaration that the government, headed by Admiral Kolchak, which from the first had been engineered by reactionaries who had felt themselves free to choose as dictator a man of recognized democratic sympathies, was now convinced that Russia’s only hope of salvation rested with the people, met with immediate popular response. The All-Russian National Union at once issued a summons to all citizens to make a supreme effort to save the nation, because no reliance could be placed upon any other agency than the people themselves. Russia must achieve her own deliverance, and that through a great popular uprising. ‘The fight against Bolshevism is the fight for right and liberty. Victory will give us an indivisible and United Russia.’

Immediately the people were heard from. Cities in Siberia which had been openly apathetic and secretly antagonistic to the Kolchak government have begun with enthusiasm to organize infantry and cavalry companies. In the country the peasants, not to be left behind, have formed themselves into detachments of volunteers. The Cossacks, on a large scale, have responded to an appeal of the government to mobilize. Desertions from the army have decreased, and the spirit to fight, which for months has been notably absent in the Kolchak army, has risen steadily. And best of all as an indication of popular confidence, the Council of the All-Siberian Congress of Coöperative Societies has recently voted to place its organization at the disposal of Admiral Kolchak.

Meantime, General Denikin, Commander-in-Chief in South Russia, who has consistently maintained that he is loyal to the Kolchak government, has been asked by the Chief of the British Military Mission in that section of the country, General Sir C. G. Briggs, to define his aim, and has responded most frankly. He declares that his objective is, first, overthrow of Bolshevism and restitution of law and order; second, reconstruction of a powerful united and indivisible Russia; third, convocation of a people’s assembly based on universal suffrage; fourth, decentralization through wide regional autonomy and liberal local self-government; fifth, guaranties of civil and religious freedom; sixth, land-reform; and seventh, generous labor legislation.

Out of the dense political chaos order seems certainly beginning slowly to evolve. It is marked on the one hand by a growing conviction that Russia must not depend upon foreign military assistance to rid herself of her internal enemies, and on the other hand, by a clarifying consciousness that Russia’s chief hope lies in her people, in the patient, strong, reliable, and longexploited peasant population. This, by getting together with the intelligentsia, who are animated by unselfish public spirit, and the city workmen, may, so a considerable number of Russians believe, save the great Republic.