The Great Terror

Introduction

THE ROOTS OF TERROR

The remedy invented by Lenin and Trotsky, the general suppression of democracy, is worse than the evil it was supposed to cure.

Rosa Luxemburg

LENIN’S PARTY

The Great Terror of 1936 to 1938 did not come out of the blue. Like any other historical phenomenon, it had its roots in the past. It would no doubt be misleading to argue that it followed inevitably from the nature of Soviet society and of the Communist Party. It was itself a means of enforcing violent change upon that society and that party. But all the same, it could not have been launched except against the extraordinarily idiosyncratic background of Bolshevik rule; and its special characteristics, some of them hardly credible to foreign minds, derive from a specific tradition. The dominating ideas of the Stalin period, the evolution of the oppositionists, the very confessions in the great show trials, can hardly be followed without considering not so much the whole Soviet past as the development of the Party, the consolidation of the dictatorship, the movements of faction, the rise of individuals, and the emergence of extreme economic policies.

After his first stroke on 26 May 1922, Lenin, cut off to a certain degree from the immediacies of political life, contemplated the unexpected defects which had arisen in the revolution he had made.

He had already remarked, to the delegates to the Party’s Xth Congress in March 1921, “We have failed to convince the broad masses.” He had felt obliged to excuse the low quality of many Party members: “No profound and popular movement in all history has taken place without its share of filth, without adventurers and rogues, without boastful and noisy elements…. A ruling party inevitably attracts careerists.”¹ He had noted that the Soviet State had “many bureaucratic deformities,” speaking of “that same Russian apparatus … borrowed from Tsardom and only just covered with a Soviet veneer.” And just before his stroke he had noted “the prevalence of personal spite and malice” in the committees charged with purging the Party.²

Soon after his recovery from this first stroke, he was remarking, “We are living in a sea of illegality,”³ and observing, “The Communist kernel lacks general culture”; the culture of the middle classes in Russia was “inconsiderable, wretched, but in any case greater than that of our responsible Communists.”⁴ In the autumn he was criticizing carelessness and parasitism, and invented special phrases for the boasts and lies of the Communists: “Corn-boasts and Corn-lies.”

In his absence, his subordinates were acting more unacceptably than ever. His criticisms had hitherto been occasional reservations uttered in the intervals of busy political and governmental activity. Now they became his main preoccupation. He found that Stalin, to whom as General Secretary he had entrusted the Party machine in 1921, was hounding the Party in Georgia. Stalin’s emissary, Ordzhonikidze, had even struck the Georgian Communist leader Kabanidze. Lenin favored a policy of conciliation in Georgia, where the population was solidly anti-Bolshevik and had only just lost its independence to a Red Army assault. He took strong issue with Stalin.

It was at this time that he wrote his “Testament.” In it he made it clear that in his view Stalin was, after Trotsky, “the most able” leader of the Central Committee; and he criticized him, not as he did Trotsky (for “too far-reaching self-confidence and a disposition to be too much attracted by the purely administrative side of affairs”), but only for having “concentrated an enormous power in his hands” which he was uncertain Stalin would always know how to use with “sufficient caution.” A few days later, after Stalin had used obscene language and made threats to Lenin’s wife, Krupskaya, in connection with Lenin’s intervention in the Georgian affair, Lenin added a postscript to the Testament recommending Stalin’s removal from the General Secretaryship on the grounds of his rudeness and capriciousness—as being incompatible, however, only with that particular office. On the whole, the reservations made about Trotsky must seem more serious when it comes to politics proper, and his “ability” to be an administrative executant rather more than a potential leader in his own right. It is only fair to add that it was to Trotsky that Lenin turned for support in his last attempts to influence policy; but Trotsky failed to carry out Lenin’s wishes.

The Testament was concerned to avoid a split between Trotsky and Stalin. The solution proposed—an increase in the size of the Central Committee—was futile. In his last articles Lenin went on to attack “bureaucratic misrule and wilfulness,” spoke of the condition of the State machine as “repugnant,” and concluded gloomily, “We lack sufficient civilization to enable us to pass straight on to Socialism although we have the political requisites.”

“The political requisites…”—but these were precisely the activity of the Party and governmental leadership which he was condemning in practice. Over the past years he had personally lauched the system of rule by a centralized Party against—if necessary—all other social forces. He had created the Bolsheviks, the new type of party, centralized and disciplined, in the first place. He had preserved its identity in 1917, when before his arrival from exile the Bolshevik leaders had aligned themselves on a course of conciliation with the rest of the Revolution. There seems little doubt that without him, the Social Democrats would have reunited and would have taken the normal position of such a movement in the State. Instead, he had kept the Bolsheviks intact, and then sought and won sole power—again against much resistance from his own followers.

It is clear from the reports of the meeting of the Central Committee nine days before the October Revolution in 1917 that the idea of the rising was “not popular,” that “the masses received our call with bewilderment.” Even the reports from most of the garrisons were tepid. The seizure of power was, in fact, an almost purely military operation, carried out by a small number of Red Guards, only partly from the factories, and a rather larger group of Bolshevized soldiery. The working masses were neutral.

Then, and in the Civil War which followed, by daring and discipline a few thousand comradesfn1 imposed themselves on Russia, against the various representatives of all political and social trends, and with the certain prospect of joint annihilation if they failed. The “Old Bolsheviks” among them had the prestige of the underground years, and the evident far-sightedness which had led them to form such a party gave them a special cachet: the myth of the Party, and the source of its leading cadres right up to the mid-1930s, was the underground struggle. But the vital force which forged in those concerned an overruling Party solidarity was the Civil War, the fight for power. It transformed the new mass Party into a hardened and experienced machine in which loyalty to the organization came before any other consideration.

When the Civil War ended, the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries quickly began to gain ground. The rank and file of the trade unions turned away from the Bolsheviks. And as the failure of the first attempt to impose strict State control of the economy became obvious, Lenin began to realize that to continue on those lines would lead to ruin. He determined on the economic retreat which was to be the New Economic Policy. But with this admission that the Bolsheviks had been wrong, the way was open for the moderate parties, to which the workers were already turning, to claim political power.

At the Xth Party Congress, in May 1921, Radek, with rather more frankness than Lenin, dotted the i’s by explaining that if the Mensheviks were left at liberty, now that the Communists had adopted their policy, they would demand political power, while to concede freedom to the Socialist Revolutionaries when the “enormous mass” of the peasants was opposed to the Communists would be suicide.⁵ Both had now to be either fully legalized or completely suppressed. The latter course was naturally chosen. The Menshevik Party, which had operated under enormous disadvantages but had not been completely illegalized, was finally crushed. The Socialist Revolutionaries followed, receiving the death blow at a trial of their leaders in 1922.

Within the Communist Party itself, centers of discontent, to some degree linked with the workers’ feelings, had built up: the Democratic Centralists, led by Sapronov, and the Workers’ Opposition, led by Shlyapnikov. The former stood for at least freedom of discussion within the Party, and both opposed the increasing bureaucratization—though as so often with Communist opposition, Lenin was able to ask Shlyapnikov and his supporters why they had not been such keen opponents of Party bureaucracy when they themselves held Cabinet posts.

At the Xth Party Congress, Lenin had suddenly introduced two resolutions forbidding the formation of such groups, or “factions,” within the Party. From then on, the Secret Police took on the suppression of the even more radical opposition groups which refused to disband. But its chief, Dzerzhinsky, found that even many loyal Party members regarded those who belonged to such groups as comrades and refused to testify against them. He went to the Politburo to obtain an official decision that it was the duty of every Party member to denounce other Party members who were engaged in agitation against the leadership. Trotsky pointed out that of course it was an “elementary” obligation for members to denounce hostile elements in Party branches.

The illegal “Workers’ Truth” group started issuing, at the end of 1922, proclamations attacking the “new bourgeoisie,” speaking of “the gulf between the Party and the workers,” of “implacable exploitation.” The class, they added, which was supposed to be exercising its dictatorship was “in fact deprived of the most elementary political rights.”⁶ And in fact the Party, which had crushed opposition parties and had openly denied the rights of the nonproletarian majority in the name of the proletarian class struggle, was now on the brink of a breach of its last meaningful link to a loyalty outside itself.

When the Constituent Assembly, with its large anti-Bolshevik majority, was dispersed by force in January 1918 almost as soon as it met, Lenin had openly proclaimed that the “workers” would not submit to a “peasant” majority.

But as early as 1919 he found it necessary to remark that “we recognize neither freedom, nor equality, nor labor democracy [my italics] if they are opposed to the interests of the emancipation of labor from the oppression of capital.”⁷ In general, the working class itself began to be regarded as unreliable. Lenin insisted that “revolutionary violence” was also essential “against the faltering and unrestrained elements of the toiling masses themselves.”⁸ The right-wing Communist Ryazanov chided him. If the proletariat was weighed down with unreliable elements, he asked, “on whom will we lean?”⁹

The answer was to be—on the Party alone. Early in 1921 it had become obvious that the workers opposed the Party. Karl Radek, addressing the War College cadets, put the case clearly:

The Party is the politically conscious vanguard of the working class. We are now at a point where the workers, at the end of their endurance, refuse any longer to follow a vanguard which leads them to battle and sacrifice…. Ought we to yield to the clamors of workingmen who have reached the limit of their patience but who do not understand their true interests as we do? Their state of mind is at present frankly reactionary. But the Party has decided that we must not yield, that we must impose our will to victory on our exhausted and dispirited followers.¹⁰

The crisis came in February 1921, when a wave of strikes and demonstrations swept Petrograd, and culminated in the revolt in March of the Kronstadt naval base.

Kronstadt saw the Party aligned finally against the people. Even the Democratic Centralists and the Workers’ Opposition threw themselves into the battle against the sailors and workers. When it came to the point, Party loyalty revealed itself as the overriding motive.

War was openly waged on the idea of libertarian radical socialism, on proletarian democracy. On the other side there remained only the idea of the Party. The Party, cut off from its social justification, now rested on dogma alone. It had become, in the most classical way, an example of a sect, a fanaticism. It assumed that popular, or proletarian, support could be dispensed with and that mere integrity of motive would be adequate, would justify everything in the long run.

Thus the Party’s mystique developed as the Party became conscious of its isolation. At first, it had “represented” the Russian proletariat. Even when that proletariat showed signs of flagging, the Party still “represented” it as an outpost of a world proletariat with whose organizations it would shortly merge when the World Revolution or the European Revolution was completed. Only when the revolutions in the West failed to mature was the Party left quite evidently representing no one, or not many, in the actual world. It now felt that it represented not so much the Russian proletariat as it existed, but the future and real interests of that proletariat. Its justification came no longer from the politics of actuality, but from the politics of prophecy. From within itself, from the ideas in the minds of its leading members, stemmed the sources of its loyalty and solidarity.

Moreover, Lenin had established within the Party all the seeds of a centralized bureaucratic attitude. The Secretariat, long before Stalin took it over, was transferring Party officials for political reasons. Sapronov had noted that local Party committees were being transformed into appointed bodies, and he put the question firmly to Lenin: “Who will appoint the Central Committee? Perhaps things will not reach that stage, but if they did, the Revolution will have been gambled away.”¹¹

In destroying the “democratic” tendency within the Communist Party, Lenin in effect threw the game to the manipulators of the Party machine. Henceforward, the apparatus was to be first the most powerful and later the only force within the Party. The answer to the question “Who will rule Russia?” became simply “Who will win a faction fight confined to a narrow section of the leadership?” Candidates for power had already shown their hands. As Lenin lay in the twilight of the long decline from his last stroke, striving to correct all this, they were already at grips in the first round of the struggle which was to culminate in the Great Purge.

STALIN CRUSHES THE LEFT

When one of the factions is extinguished, the remainder subdivideth.

FRANCIS BACON

It was in the Politburo that the decisive confrontations took place. Over the following years Trotsky, Zinoviev, Kamenev, Bukharin, Rykov, and Tomsky were to meet death at the hands of the only survivor, Stalin. At the time, such a denouement seemed unlikely.

Trotsky was the first and, on the face of it, the most dangerous of Stalin’s opponents. On him Stalin was to concentrate, over the years, the whole power of his immense capacity for political malice. The personal roots of the Great Purge extend back to the earliest period of Soviet rule, when the most bitter of the various bitter rivalries which possessed Stalin was centered on the man who seemed, at least to the superficial observer, the main claimant to the Lenin succession, but who, for that reason, roused the united hostility of the remainder of the top leadership.

Trotsky’s revolutionary record, from the time he had returned from abroad to become President of the St. Petersburg Soviet during the 1905 Revolution, was outstanding. His fame was European. In the Party, however, he was not as strong as his repute suggested. Right up to 1917, he had stayed clear of Lenin’s tightly organized Bolshevik group and operated, with a few sympathizers, as an independent revolutionary, though in some ways closer to the Mensheviks. His own group had merged with the Bolsheviks in June 1917, and he had played a decisive role in the seizure of power in November of that year. But he was regarded as an outsider by most of the Old Bolsheviks. And at the same time, he was lacking in the experience of intrigue which they had picked up in the long and obscure inner-Party struggles in which he had tried to operate as a conciliator. They also thought of him as arrogant. The respect he won by his gifts and intellect was wrung from them reluctantly. Although he had a number of devoted adherents, on the whole he repelled as much as he attracted. With Lenin’s partial support, he was undoubtedly the second man in the Party and State. With Lenin dead, he became vulnerable. But in spite of the weakness of his position, it had its strength. He had powerful backing, not only from many able Bolsheviks, but also from the students and younger Communists. The “Left” associated with Trotsky had opposed Lenin on the great issues of the early 1920s. By the New Economic Policy, Lenin had saved the country from collapse, and at the same time had kept the Party’s grip on power, but at the expense of large concessions to “capitalism”: the rich peasant proprietor and the profiteering “NEP-man” flourished. All this was repulsive, even sinful, to the purists. They were often not particularly devoted to Trotsky in person, but rather held to the views—dogmatic or principled, depending on how one looks at it—which Trotsky had come to personify in the early 1920s, as Bukharin had in 1918. When Stalin himself went “Left” in 1928, most of them ceased to support Trotsky in his opposition.

This group included Pyatakov, one of the six men named by Lenin in his Testament; Lenin saw him, with Bukharin, as the ablest of the younger men. Pyatakov, a tall dignified man with a long, straight beard and a high domed forehead, had started his political career as an anarchist, becoming a Bolshevik in 1910. During the Civil War, his brother had been shot by the Whites in the Ukraine, and he had only just escaped the same fate. His modesty and lack of personal ambition were admired as much as his ability.

Other leading “Trotskyites” were Krestinsky, member of the first Politburo and original senior Secretary of the Central Committee until the Left were removed from administrative power by Lenin; Rakovsky, the handsome Bulgarian veteran who had virtually founded the Balkan revolutionary movement; Preobrazhensky, the great theorist of the creation of industry on the basis of squeezing the funds out of the peasantry, who has been described as the true leader of the Left in 1923 and 1924;¹² and Radek, ugly and intelligent, who had come to the Bolsheviks from Rosa Luxemburg’s Polish Social Democratic Party and had also worked in the German Socialist Left. He had operated with great daring and skill in the revolutionary Berlin of 1919, where he had been imprisoned. But his element was very much that of underground intrigue and the political gamble, and as an able journalist, sharp and satirical. His image in the Party was that of an erratic, unreliable, and cynical talker rather than a serious politician.

Trotsky was, however, quite isolated in the Politburo itself. His greatest strength was his control of the War Commissariat. An old Trotskyite later took the view that Trotsky could have won in 1923 if he had held his base in the army and personally appealed to the Party workers in the great towns. Trotsky did not do so (this observer felt) because his victory would then have meant a sure split in the Central Committee, and he hoped to secure it by negotiation.¹³

But this was the wrong arena. Trotsky’s weaknesses as a politician were demonstrated:

… the great intellectual, the great administrator, the great orator lacked one quality essential—at any rate in the conditions of the Russian Revolution—to the great political leader. Trotsky could fire masses of men to acclaim and follow him. But he had no talent for leadership among equals. He could not establish his authority among colleagues by the modest arts of persuasion or by sympathetic attention to the views of men of lesser intellectual calibre than himself. He did not suffer fools, and he was accused of being unable to brook rivals.¹⁴

His hold on Party workers was dependent on great gestures and great speeches. A listener remarks:

But as soon as he [Trotsky] had finished he left the hall. There was no personal contact in the corridors. This aloofness, I believe, may partly explain Trotsky’s inability as well as his unwillingness to build a large personal following among the rank and file of the Party. Against the intrigues of Party leaders, which were soon to multiply, Trotsky fought only with the weapons he knew how to use: his pen and his oratory. And even these weapons he took up only when it was too late.¹⁵

Above all, Trotsky’s self-dramatization, his conviction that he would triumph by mere personal superiority, without having to condescend to unspectacular political actions, was fatal. A devastating comment from an experienced revolutionary sums it up: “Trotsky, an excellent speaker, brilliant stylist and skilled polemicist, a man cultured and of excellent intelligence, was deficient in only one quality: a sense of reality.”¹⁶

Stalin left the fiercest attacks on Trotsky to his allies. He insistently preached moderation. When Zinoviev and Kamenev urged the expulsion of Trotsky from the Party, he opposed it. He said that no one could possibly “conceive of the work of the Political Bureau … without the most active participation of Comrade Trotsky.”¹⁷ But his actions were far more effective than his allies’ words. His Secretariat organized the dispersal of Trotsky’s leading supporters. Rakovsky was sent to the Soviet Legation in London, Krestinsky on a diplomatic mission to Germany, others to similar exile. By these and similar means, Trotsky was isolated and outmaneuvered with little trouble. His views, which had already been in conflict with those of Lenin, were officially condemned, and by 1925 it was possible to remove him from the War Commissariat.

Stalin now turned on his erstwhile allies Zinoviev and Kamenev. Only to a lesser degree than Trotsky himself they were to be pivotal to the Great Purge.

It is hard to find anyone who writes of Zinoviev in other than a hostile fashion. He seems to have impressed oppositionists and Stalinists, Communists and non-Communists, as a vain, incompetent, insolent, and cowardly nonentity. Except for Stalin himself, he is the only Bolshevik leader who cannot be called an intellectual. But, at the same time, he had no political sense either. He had no understanding of economic problems. He was a very effective orator, but his speeches lacked substance and were only temporarily effective in rousing mass audiences. And yet this was the man who was for a time the leading figure in the Soviet State just before and after Lenin’s death. He owed his position simply to the fact that he had been one of the most useful amanuenses and hangers-on of Lenin (often a poor judge of men) during the period from 1909 to 1917—in fact, his closest collaborator and pupil. Just before, and for some time after, the October Revolution, he often opposed what he thought to be the risks in Lenin’s policies, on occasion resigning his posts. But he always came back with apologies. And from 1918 on, he had again followed Lenin loyally.

Lenin is said to have complained, “He copies my faults”;¹⁸ nevertheless, he had forgiven him his weakness in 1917, and relied on him heavily in important posts. He had also said that Zinoviev was bold when danger was past.¹⁹ “Panic personified” was Sverdlov’s comment.²⁰ Yet Zinoviev had worked in the underground until joining Lenin abroad in 1908, and his conduct in opposition to Stalin (including long spells in jail), though neither firm nor reasonable, was not pure cowardice. With all his faults, he did at least make a serious bid for power, which is more than can be said for either Trotsky or Bukharin. He built up his Leningrad fief, and he and Kamenev exerted all their capacities to defeat Stalin. But perhaps the best thing to be said in Zinoviev’s favor is that Kamenev, a more reputable figure, worked loyally with him for many years, and in fact right up to the time of their execution.

Like Stalin, Kamenev had lived in Tbilisi as a boy, and had gone from the Tbilisi Gymnasium to be a law student in Moscow. He was again in Tbilisi, representing the Party, in the early years of the century, when Stalin was barely known. He had been in the Butyrka jail when a student. After his underground work, he had stayed abroad between 1908 and 1914 as Lenin’s closest collaborator after Zinoviev. He did not follow Lenin quite so closely as Zinoviev did, but worked for compromise with the Mensheviks and later, in Russia, dissociated himself from Lenin’s defeatism in the First World War. After the February Revolution in 1917, he came back from exile in Siberia with Stalin, and they launched a program of support for the Provisional Government. When Lenin returned and insisted on a more revolutionary attitude, Kamenev alone continued to resist this view. In October 1917 he joined Zinoviev in opposing the seizure of power, attracting Lenin’s violent, though temporary, rage. From 1918 on, he stuck to the Party line. He was not ambitious and was always inclined to moderation. In any case, he had neither the will power nor the judgment to compete adequately in the new phase.

Zinoviev and Kamenev had no truly outstanding adherents, but their following nevertheless included men like Lashevich (Vice Commissar for War, who was later to die before the Purges), G. E. Evdokimov (Secretary of the Central Committee), and a number of other powerful figures. Moreover, Zinoviev still controlled the Leningrad Party, and it voted solidly against Stalin’s majority. There was thus the curious sight of the organizations of the Party “representing” the workers of Leningrad and of Moscow respectively passing unanimously resolutions condemning each other. “What,” Trotsky asked ironically, “was the social explanation?”²¹

Once again, Stalin was able to appear the moderate. He represented Zinoviev and Kamenev as wanting to destroy the majority. In passages which were to require much amendment in later editions of his Works, he asked, “You demand Bukharin’s blood? We won’t give you his blood.” And again: “The Party was to be led without Rykov, without Kalinin, without Tomsky, without Molotov, without Bukharin…. The Party cannot be led without the aid of those comrades I have just named.”²²

Defeated, Zinoviev and Kamenev, who had been particularly strong against Trotsky, now turned to him for support, forming “the United Opposition.” This involved their accepting the left-wing line on economic policy, and it automatically ranged against them the followers of Lenin’s line, in particular Bukharin and his supporters. By 1926, as Souvarine remarks, Trotsky had “more or less already handed Stalin the dictatorship by his lack of foresight, his tactic of patient waiting broken by sudden and inconsequent reactions, and his mistaken calculations,” but his final mistake was the forming of this bloc with Zinoviev and Kamenev, “men devoid of character or credit who had nothing concrete to offer to offset the disrepute they brought with them.”²³ Trotsky did not understand what the Party now was or the nature of the problem he faced.

In April 1926, Evdokimov, the only Zinovievite on the Secretariat, was removed. In July, Zinoviev was expelled from the Politburo, being replaced by the Stalinist Rudzutak; and in October, Trotsky and Kamenev were expelled in turn. In October, the opposition submitted. Zinoviev, Kamenev, Trotsky, Pyatakov, Sokolnikov, and Evdokimov denounced their own offenses,²⁴ a most striking precedent for the long series of self-denunciations by the oppositionists.

In 1927, the Trotsky—Zinoviev bloc made one last effort. Defeated and isolated in the ruling councils of the Party, they thought to appeal to the “Party masses” and the workers. (This was a measure of their lack of contact with reality: the masses were now wholly alienated.) In the autumn came the setting up of an illegal Trotskyite printing press, and illegal demonstrations in Moscow and Leningrad. Mrachkovsky, Preobrazhensky, and Serebryakov accepted responsibility for the print shop. They were all immediately expelled from the Party, and Mrachkovsky was arrested. Stalin gave the whole thing a most sinister air by representing the GPU provocateur who had exposed the opposition printing in an entirely false role as “a former Wrangel officer.” Opposition demonstrations on 7 November were a fiasco. The only result was that on 14 November Trotsky and Zinoviev were expelled from the Party, and Kamenev, Rakovsky, Smilga, and Evdokimov from the Central Committee. Their followers everywhere were also ejected. Zinoviev and his followers recanted. Trotsky’s, for the moment, stood firm. The effective number of Trotskyites and Zinovievites is easy to deduce: 2,500 oppositionists recanted after the 1927 Congress, and 1,500 were expelled. The leading Trotskyites were sent into exile. In January 1928, Trotsky was deported to Alma-Ata. Rakovsky, Pyatakov, Preobrazhensky, and others of the Left followed him to other places in the Siberian and Asian periphery.

On 16 December 1928 Trotsky refused to abjure political activity. In spite of efforts by Bukharin, together with Tomsky and Rykov, with the support, apparently, of the moderate Stalinist Kuibyshev, the Politburo agreed to his expulsion from the USSR. He was arrested on 22 January 1929 and expelled to Tdrkey.

STALIN’S MEN

As his rivals fell one by one, Stalin was promoting a following with different qualities. Not one of them had any status as a theoretician, though most were capable of putting a line to a Party Congress in the conventional Marxist phrasing, which to some degree disguised this disability. Few of them had great seniority in the Party. But they were all Old Bolsheviks, and their characteristics were doggedness and a willingness to work at the dull detail of administration.

They included men of ability, if not of brilliance. It was natural that Molotov, Russia’s best bureaucrat, should gravitate to Stalin’s side. He had been one of the first leaders in Petrograd when the underground Bolsheviks emerged in 1917, and before that he had edited Pravda. He had become a candidate member of the Politburo in 1921. In 1922 he was joined in that capacity by the administrative tough V. V. Kuibyshev. But it was not until January 1926 that a further intake of Stalin’s men took place: Voroshilov, his creature since the Civil War, became a full member; and Yan Rudzutak, a Latvian who typified the durs of the old underground, and G. I. Petrovsky, formerly a member of the Duma and latterly an executive of Stalinist policy, came in as candidates.

Later in 1926 Rudzutak was promoted to the full membership lost by Zinoviev, and the candidates were reinforced by five more Stalinists, including the Georgian “Sergo” Ordzhonikidze, who had been a member of the Central Committee even before the war; Sergei Kirov, appointed to head the Leningrad Party on the rout of the Zinovievites; Lazar Kaganovich; and Anastas Mikoyan. Ordzhonikidze, whom Lenin had proposed to expel from the Party for two years for his brutality to the Georgian Communists in 1922, was a feldsher, or medical orderly. Uneducated, except in Party matters, he gave foreigners the impression of being genial but sly. He seems to have intrigued with Zinoviev in 1925 and with Bukharin in 1928 and then let each of them down.²⁵

Ordzhonikidze’s vacillations, though, appear to have been due to weakness rather than ill will. He was apparently willing to accept Zinoviev and Kamenev back into the Party in 1927 on better terms than Stalin granted, describing them as men “who have brought a good deal of benefit to our Party,”²⁶ and he expressly dissociated himself from some of the more extreme charges against Trotsky.²⁷ He was reasonably popular in the Party, and in the years to come was to be to some extent a moderating influence.

Kirov had joined the Party at the age of eighteen in Tomsk in 1904. Arrested or deported four times under Tsarism, he was leader of the Bolshevik organization at Vladikavkaz in the Caucasus—a typical minor but high testing post for the underground militant—during the February 1917 Revolution. He, too, was lacking in some of the worst Stalinist characteristics. He, too, was fairly popular in the Party. He was Russian, as Stalin was not. He was also, alone among the Stalinists, a very effective orator. Although Kirov unflinchingly enforced Stalin’s collectivization and industrialization policies, he does not seem to have had that streak of malice which characterized Stalin and his closest associates. Although ruthless, he was neither vicious nor servile. A foreign Communist who had dealings with him says that his Leningrad office had no air of revolutionary enthusiasm, and he himself “by his remarks and methods, reminded me of the cultured high officials of the Austrian administration I had known at Brunn.”²⁸

Such men as Kirov and Ordzhonikidze, Rudzutak and Kuibyshev, whose fates were to be important cruxes in the Great Purge, were supporters and allies of Stalin rather than real devotees. They did not see the logical tendencies of Stalin’s political attitude or penetrate the obscure potentialities of his personality. The same seems to apply to such men as Vlas Chubar, who joined the Politburo as a candidate member in November 1926, and S. V. Kossior, who came in in the following year—both of them Bolsheviks since 1907 and of worker origin.

There was a story in the early 1930s of Stalin telling Yagoda that he preferred people to support him from fear rather than from conviction, because convictions could change.²⁹ When it came to the point, he could not rely on these men to support him through everything. He was to deal with them just as ruthlessly as with the oppositionists, reminding one of Cosimo de’ Medici’s remark that “we are nowhere commanded to forgive our friends.”

The truest Stalinist of these promotions of the 1920s was Lazar Kaganovich. He was brought in by Stalin in 1922 as leader of the “Organization and Instruction” Section of the Central Committee under the Secretariat. He was raised to the Central Committee and to the Secretariat at the XIIIth Congress in 1924. Thenceforward, he undertook Stalin’s most important assignments—as First Secretary in the Ukraine from 1925 to 1928, being withdrawn as part of the concessions Stalin then felt worth making; as First Secretary in the Moscow Party organization from 1930 to 1935; and as administrator of the key Agricultural Department of the Central Committee in 1933.

Kaganovich, though to some degree shallow in his appreciation of problems, was a brilliant administrator. A clear mind and a powerful will went with a total lack of the restraints of humanity. If we have used the word ruthless as generally descriptive of Kirov, for Kaganovich it must be taken quite literally—there was no ruth, no pity, at all in his make-up.

In the Purge, he took the extreme line that the Party’s interest justified everything. Fixing him “with his steely blue eyes,” he told an industrial official that as the Party was cleansing itself there were bound to be occasional mistakes: “When the forest is cut down the chips fly.” He added that a Bolshevik must be ready to sacrifice himself for the Party: “Yes, ready to sacrifice not only his life but his self-respect and sensitivity.”³⁰ His public speeches, too, are full of appeals for ruthlessness and self-sacrifice. When he himself was removed, in rather easier circumstances, in 1957, he telephoned the victor and begged not to be shot. It is not difficult to conclude that we have here a bully and a coward.

We may also note here the rise of future Politburo members. Andrei Zhdanov, First Secretary of the important Nizhni-Novgorod (later Gorky) province, was typical of the younger Stalinist generation. In him we find an ideological fanaticism much more dominant than in most of his generation. To him is due one of the few benefits of the Stalin epoch as compared with the 1920s—the reestablishment of an educational system which, though narrow and sycophantic, at least restored in the nonpolitical subjects the rigor and effectiveness of Russian education, which had deteriorated in the experimental interlude. Georgi Malenkov, an equally ruthless and intelligent young man, worked in the Party apparatus. His mind ran less in the channels of ideological conviction and political fanaticism than in the skills and details of political maneuver, the apparatus and its personalities. Lavrenti Beria, a former OGPU operative, was appointed by Stalin in 1931 to head the Party organization in Transcaucasia, against the objections of local leaders. These four were to combine some political capacity with satisfactory ruthlessness and to rise high in the State. Their roles in the Purge were particularly murderous.

One view commonly held at the time was that the essential struggle of the early 1930s was waged between the Stalinist “moderates” and men of the Kaganovich type, for “priority of influence over Stalin.” In fact, Stalin himself was occasionally giving in with apparent good grace to hostile majorities while leaving Kaganovich and company the task of overtly putting the extreme case. As a result, the moderates seem to have thought that Stalin might have been induced to accept compromise and make shift with less than autocratic power. This mistake weakened them, as it had weakened all the previous opponents of Stalin.

There seems, indeed, no doubt that Kaganovich and others identified with terrorism did their best to dissuade Stalin from any policy of relaxation. For the Party would have forgiven Stalin, but a change in line would certainly have led to the fall of this cabal. That Stalin needed their encouragement is a more dubious proposition: his suspicions and ambitions were so strong as not to be notably affected by the efforts of these advisers. Khrushchev probably had the hierarchy of influence right when he commented, “Arbitrary behavior by one person encouraged and permitted arbitrariness in others.”³¹

Apart from the true politicians operating the overt machinery of Party and State, Stalin began from the 1920s to build up a personal group of agents, chosen for their lack of scruple and totally dependent on and devoted to himself. There is a Russian proverb, “Out of filth you can make a prince,” which, Trotsky says, Stalin was fond of quoting.³² These men were truly disgusting characters by any standards, a cadre which had abandoned all normal political or even Communist standards and which may be regarded as in effect a personal group of hatchet men, ready for any violence or falsification at the orders of their leader. At the same time, the political mechanism—containing comparatively reputable figures—continued to exist and was held to the front, just as Al Capone’s rule over Cicero was fronted for by civic officials, and employed the usual quota of economic and administrative cadres.

The “bloodthirsty dwarf” Yezhov—he was only about five feet tall—joined the Party in March 1917. Stalin found him in provincial posts and brought him into the Secretariat. He became a member of the Central Committee in 1927. An old Communist remarks, “In the whole of my long life I have never seen a more repellent personality than Yezhov’s.”³³ He was reminded of one of those slum children whose favorite occupation was to tie paraffin-soaked paper to a cat’s tail and set fire to it—and this was long before Yezhov had shown his full potential. On one view, Yezhov was merely a typical apparatchik: if so, the level implied is deplorable. A recent Soviet account speaks of his “low moral qualities” and “sadistic inclinations”; “women working in the NKVD were frightened of meeting him even in the corridors”; he “lacked any trace of conscience or moral principles.”³⁴

The intelligence of Yezhov himself has universally been described as low. But that is not to say that he, and the others, did not have adequate organizational and “political” capacities. Such have been found also in leading gangsters, who have, indeed, also been known to nourish a sense of allegiance to the mystique of an organization in much the same way as Yezhov and his colleagues. For such men, the Party was indeed cosa nostra—“our thing.”

Another such character, even closer to Stalin, was his secretary Poskrebyshev—bald, slightly humpbacked, heavily pockmarked. He was accustomed to speak quietly, but in the coarsest possible language, and gave a general impression of being almost totally uneducated. As head of the “Special Sector” of the Central Committee for many years, he was Stalin’s closest confidant until 1952.

Similar men, who were to play important roles in the Terror, were Mekhlis and Shchadenko, who destroyed the Army; Shkiryatov, Yezhov’s chief Purge assistant; and a dozen others of lesser note.

A last figure, more important than most, was Andrei Vyshinsky. Educated, intelligent, cowardly, and servile, he had been a Menshevik until 1921 and had joined the Bolshevik Party only after it established itself as victor. He was thus vulnerable to pressures and threats, and soon sought the protection of the faction best able to provide it. He made a quasi-academic career for himself in the Faculty of Law at Moscow University, and rapidly became its Rector on the intervention of the Party apparatus. Later he was a high official in the Commissariat for Education and was deeply involved in the purge of the academic world.

Vyshinsky was originally only on the fringe of the Purges, like a gangland lawyer. He was despised, and often openly snubbed, by the police and Party operatives. He was to survive them, after a career of unrelieved falsification and slander. He struck the present writer, who spoke with him in the last years of his life when he was Foreign Minister, as both physically and spiritually a creature who gave life to the worn image of a “rat in human form.”

Machiavelli mentions several instances of actual criminals rising to control the State—Agathocles of Syracuse, for example. Georgian Communists used to refer to Stalin as a kinto, the old Tiflis equivalent of the Neapolitian lazzaroni. This tendency in his character is most clearly seen in his selection of followers. In the 1937 Trial, Vyshinsky was to say of the oppositionists, “This gang of murderers, incendiaries and bandits can only be compared with the medieval camorra which united the Italian nobility, vagabonds and brigands.”³⁵ There is a sense in which this analysis is not inappropriate to the victors.

DEFEAT OF THE RIGHT

With the promotion of his own allies into the Politburo, Stalin had a clear potential majority. There remained one further group to defeat: the Rightists Bukharin, Rykov, and Tomsky, with whom he had hitherto allied himself.

The Bolsheviks had taken power in a country which was not, even in their own theory, ready for their “proletarian” and “socialist” rule. For the first few years, it was maintained that though this was true, they had broken capitalist sway in a “weak link” and revolutions would soon follow in the Western world. Meanwhile, the Bolsheviks should maintain their advanced position in the hope, or rather certainty, of support from revolutions in, as Lenin put it, Berlin and London. This view lasted after the end of Lenin’s active political life. As late as 1923, the attempted coup in Germany was expected to regularize the situation.

When this failed, Stalin’s theory of Socialism in One Country was propounded. It had the obvious advantage that the alternative of giving up power, or even sharing power, on theoretical grounds was naturally unattractive to those who now held all the positions of power.

The new idea was, then, to “socialize” the country from above. If this had to be done without international assistance, then the Party must face the problem. Its very raison d’être was to socialize. The alternative was to adjust to the reality of a party ruling a country not suited to its ideas—that is, to face facts, to accept the economic situation and abandon the rigors of dogma. It was clear that the new system could only be achieved by force, and if established could only be kept in existence by the further and constant application of force. Above all, it was clear that the peasantry, the vast majority of the population, had accepted the Communists precisely to the extent that (under the New Economic Policy) they did not socialize the countryside.

Such a compromise was feasible. Feasible, but not possible—in the sense that the Party’s whole raison d’être was “socialism.” Its ideological mind-set was unsuited to reality, but was also prevented from adjusting to it by organizational principle. “Democratic centralism” by now meant that “Party discipline” involved the acceptance of a “Party line” determined by the victors of struggle within the Politburo. Those who counseled a longer patient interim in which the peasantry would be persuaded of the advantages of a socialized agriculture were seen as cowards. Stalin’s problems were to rid himself of such Rightists, but also to win the leading party stratum. It was the latter who, at this time, provided him with effective support.

Zinoviev and Trotsky were no sooner defeated than Stalin turned against the Right. Its most influential leader was Nikolai Bukharin. He had been described by Lenin as “the favorite of the Party.” But Lenin had earlier referred to him as “(1) credulous toward gossip and (2) devilishly unstable in politics.”³⁶ He was much the most intellectual of the Bolsheviks, and had an intense interest in theory (being, in Lenin’s peculiar formulation, “a most valuable and most eminent Party theoretician” who nevertheless did not properly understand Marxism). In 1917 Lenin had thought of Sverdlov and Bukharin as the natural successors if he and Trotsky were killed.³⁷

But in the following year, Bukharin had led the “Left Communists” in opposition to the Brest-Litovsk Treaty, in a struggle that at one time reached the point of tentative plans for Lenin’s overthrow. He had worked with the “Left” tendency until 1921, when he had suddenly become the strongest supporter of the NEP, a line he was to maintain until his fall.

Deutscher describes Bukharin as combining “angularity of intellect” with “artistic sensitivity and impulsiveness, a delicacy of character, and a gay, at times almost schoolboyish, sense of humour.”³⁸ He was also possessed from time to time by a soggy, tearful romanticism—even about the Secret Police. Trotsky speaks of “his behaving in his customary manner, half hysterically, half childishly.”³⁹

His main associate was Alexei Rykov, Lenin’s successor as Premier, who had worked in the underground top leadership since it first stabilized, but who had consistently tended to compromise with the Mensheviks. With Bukharin and Rykov stood the striking figure of Tomsky, leader of the trade unions, the only worker in the Politburo. He had led one of the earliest of all Soviets, that in Reval, in the 1905 revolution, and had been one of the three representatives of underground organizations at the conference of Bolshevik leaders in Paris in 1909.

Bukharin’s Right won men like Uglanov, successor to Kamenev as leader of the Moscow Party; and around Bukharin in particular there grew up a group of younger men, mainly intellectuals, who were perhaps the best minds in the Party in the early 1930s. During the attack on the Left, Stalin strongly censured the idea of “fantastic plans for industry without reckoning up our reserves” and rebuked “people who look on the mass of laboring peasants as … an object to be exploited for the benefit of industry.”⁴⁰ But he now began to take a different line, adopting the left-wing policy in its most rigorous form.

On 11 July 1928 Bukharin had a secret meeting with Kamenev, organized by Sokolnikov. Kamenev made a résumé of the conversation which finally leaked and was published abroad. Bukharin had finally seen, as he said, that the political divergences between his own right-wing faction and the left-wing faction of Zinoviev and Kamenev were as nothing compared with the total divergence of principle which separated them all from Stalin. It was not a question of ideas, since Stalin did not have any: “He changes his theories according to the need he has of getting rid of somebody at such-and-such a moment.” Stalin had concluded that the advance to socialism would meet more and more popular resistance. Bukharin commented, “That will mean a police State, but nothing will stop Stalin.” On the peasant issue Bukharin added in true Party style, “The kulaks can be hunted down at will, but we must conciliate the middle peasants.”

Bukharin’s appeal to the disgraced Kamenev was the poorest possible tactics. Not only was Kamenev no use, and the news of the approach to him highly damaging to Bukharin, but the real forces of the Left were beginning to be reconciled to the Party line, now that it had evidently swung their way; Pyatakov capitulated as early as February 1928. By mid-1929, Krestinsky, Radek, and most of the other “Trotskyites” had petitioned for readmission to the Party. Of the leaders, Rakovsky alone held out (until 1934). An observer remarks that Communists who had become involved in the opposition and needed to redeem their past faults were “particularly ruthless.”⁴¹

Towards the end of 1928, Bukharin, Rykov, and Tomsky put in their resignations, in anger at Stalin’s steady undermining of their positions. It was too soon for Stalin, and he immediately made his usual verbal concessions, passed a Politburo resolution compromising with the Right, and thus obtained “unanimity.” Thereafter, the attack on the Rightist deviation went on as before but without any naming of the leaders.

In January 1929, Bukharin submitted a declaration to the Politburo protesting against plans to squeeze the peasantry and strongly criticizing the absence of intra-Party democracy. It included the remarks “We are against one-man decisions of questions of Party leadership. We are against control by a collective being replaced by control by a person, even though an authoritative one.” This, it was charged, was “direct slander of the Party, direct slander of Comrade Stalin, against whom they try to advance accusations of attempting the single-handed direction of our Party.”⁴²

Stalin’s success in organizational detail now bore fruit. The Rightists were supported in the Central Committee by a mere handful of members.⁴³ That body, meeting in April 1929, condemned the right wing’s views, removed Bukharin from his editorship of Pravda and chairmanship of the Comintern, and dismissed Tomsky from the trade union leadership. As Kaganovich was to say of the trade unions: “The greater part of the leadership … has been replaced. It could be said that this was a violation of proletarian democracy, but, comrades, it has long been known that for us Bolsheviks democracy is no fetish….”⁴⁴

In April, too, the principles of crash industrialization and of collectivization were adopted at the XVIth Party Conference. After their views had been condemned, the Rightists submitted. On 26 November 1929 they published a very general recantation of their views on “a series of political and tactical questions.” Bukharin now lost his Politburo post.

Stalin’s political problem was not yet solved. Although he had beaten the Right, there was no true guarantee against a revival of its fortunes. But with the launching of the Party into the bitter adventure of sudden collectivization, the effect on any wavering section might be calculated to be a swing to more solidarity. The effect on the Leftists, already opposed to Bukharin’s views, would be further to disarm their complaints against Stalin’s policies and to make them start thinking of the old Party loyalty in the presence of the enemy. As for the just-defeated Rightists, how could they rock the boat during the crisis?

Whenever the Party had been unpopular, this sort of solidarity had been demonstrated. At Kronstadt, all the oppositionists—even the Workers’ Opposition—had rallied to the leadership for the critical period.

The last serious pretense that persuasion, or even economic pressure, was to be the method of enforcing the Party will on the peasantry had disappeared. Pure force, a frontal assault, was the chosen method. Without any serious preparation or planning on the economic side, the Party was launched into a civil war in the rural areas. It was the first great crisis of the Stalin regime, and it marks the beginning of a whole new era of terror.

On 5 January 1930 the Central Committee issued a decision, switching from the original plan of collectivizing 20 percent of the sown area during the Five-Year Plan to the complete collectivization of the more important regions by the autumn of 1930 or at the very latest the autumn of 1931, and in other areas by the autumn of 1931 or at the very latest the autumn of 1932.⁴⁵ In one way or another, everything got out of hand, and in a few weeks the Party had been carried to the brink of disaster. Between January and March 1930, the number of peasant holdings brought into the collective farms increased from 4 million to 14 million. Over half the total peasant households had been collectivized in five months. And in the countryside the peasants fought back with “the sawed-off shotgun, the axe, the dagger, the knife.”⁴⁶ At the same time, they destroyed their livestock rather than let it fall into the hands of the State.

Kalinin, Ordzhonikidze, and other members of the Politburo visited the provinces and seem to have reported realistically about the disaster. But Stalin is said not to have bothered to obtain Politburo permission for his key article “Dizziness with Success,” published in Pravda on 2 March 1930.⁴⁷ The article put most of the blame on excesses committed by local Party workers, and this, it is said, came as a shock to local enthusiasts. It was followed on 14 March by a condemnation of “distortions” of the Party line in the application of compulsion to the peasantry—which, the statement said, was a Leftist deviation which could only help to strengthen right-wing elements in the Party. Bauman, who had replaced Uglanov as First Secretary in Moscow and candidate member of the Politburo, was now made a scapegoat on charges of Left deviation, removed from his post, and sent to a lesser position in Central Asia.⁴⁸

Defeat had been accepted. The peasants left the kolkhozes. Stalin’s policy lay in ruins.

In any other political system, this would have been the moment for the opposition to stand forward. They had been proved right. And support for the Rightist leadership sprang up spontaneously in Party branches all over the country. Among the people as a whole, they were of course stronger still. But to this vast potential support, Bukharin, Tomsky, and Rykov gave no lead. On the contrary, they went out of their way to say that to come out against “the Party,” especially with the support of peasants, was unthinkable. So Stalin’s policy defeat was accompanied by a political victory. Tomsky was removed from the Politburo in July 1930, and Rykov in December. Henceforth, it was purely Stalinist.

The Rightist leaders privately regarded Stalin’s leadership as catastrophic and hoped for his fall, but advised their closest adherents to wait in patience for a change in the Party mood. Bukharin favored working up a general support of the idea of a change without any direct organized struggle for the time being. He is described as having counseled the younger oppositionists to rely on the masses, who must sooner or later realize the fatal consequences of the Stalin line.⁴⁹ Patience would be necessary. So he accepted defeat in the vague hope of some improvement later on.

The Trotskyists voiced a similar hope for a change. Ivan Smirnov, a “capitulator,” now considered, “In view of the incapacity of the present leadership to get out of the economic and political deadlock, the conviction about the need to change the leadership of the Party is growing.”⁵⁰

Stalin, though retreating, had not given up his plans for collectivization. He now proposed to bring it into being over a longer period—by means just as inhuman but not so ill-prepared. Everywhere in the countryside, the Party, faced with a hostile peasantry, regrouped and prepared further desperate action.

By a far better prepared combination of ruthlessness and economic measures, the almost complete collectivization of the bulk of the country was again attained by the end of 1932.

The peasants remaining in the villages were now subjected to demands for amounts of grain which they were unable to produce. In 1932 and 1933, the Ukraine, the North Caucasus, and the Lower Volga suffered a terrible famine. There was enough grain, but it was taken away to the last kilogram. As recent Soviet accounts put it, “this famine was organized by Stalin quite consciously and according to plan.”⁵¹

The main weight of the assault was against the Ukraine, and the (then) Ukrainian-speaking areas of the Kuban, in the North Caucasus. It was combined with a devastating attack on the Ukrainian intelligentsia and the Ukrainian Party itself. In fact, the campaign may be said to resemble the “laying waste” of hostile subject territories practiced by Jenghiz Khan and other figures of the past.

But it was not until 1988 that, on this as on other aspects of Stalinism, full accounting of the impact, the method, and the motives appeared in Soviet publications. The deaths in the terror-famine cannot have been lower than 6 to 7 million. The death toll among the peasantry over the whole period 1930 to 1933 is given in the recent Soviet literature as around 10 million—higher than the dead of all the belligerents put together in the First World War. That is, it was all on a scale as large as that of the subsequent “Great Terror.” These events are not the subject of this book, except insofar as they are a part of the preparation for the full scale Stalinist regime. (The present writer has in fact dealt with the 1930–1933 terror in The Harvest of Sorrow; indeed, in a sense, the two books form a sequence on Stalinism in the 1930s.)

There seems little doubt that the main issue was simply crushing the peasantry, and the Ukrainians, at any cost. One high official told a Ukrainian who later defected that the 1933 harvest “was a test of our strength and their endurance. It took a famine to show them who is master here. It has cost millions of lives, but the collective farm system is here to stay. We have won the war.”⁵² In fact, we find that mass terror was now already in existence in the countryside, and thousands of police and Party officials had received the most ruthless operational experience.

On the other front, that of crash industrialization, a similar atmosphere of discipline prevailed. The great steelworks went up among ramshackle barracks packed with ill-fed workers. But in this field there was economic achievement. It was not that presaged by the plans or claimed by the propaganda authorities. The idea of smoothly planned progress was quite inapplicable.

Even in theory, the idea of plan fulfillment gave way to a race for the maximum. “Over-fulfillment” was the target, and awards went to the director who produced 120 percent of his quota. But if he did so, how did he get the raw materials? They must, of course, have been obtained at the expense of some other industry. The method, in fact, is not strictly speaking that of a planned economy; it is, rather, that of a competitive expansion without regard to allocation of resources or to the necessity of the goods produced. This system gave rise to enormous dislocations.

Even admitting the basic validity of the crash programs, the Party had not by 1930 had time to prepare adequate technical and managerial staffs or to educate the workers and peasants. Hence, everything had to be handled on the basis of myth and coercion rather than rationality and cooperation. The new proletariat was “alienated” even more thoroughly than the old. In October 1930, the first decree was issued forbidding the free movement of labor, followed two months later by one that forbade factories to employ people who had left their previous place of work without permission. At the same time, unemployment relief was abolished on the grounds that “there was no more unemployment.” In January 1931 came the first law introducing prison sentences for violation of labor discipline—confined for the time being to railwaymen. February brought the compulsory Labor Books for all industrial and transport workers. In March, punitive measures against negligence were announced, followed by a decree holding workers responsible for damage done to instruments or materials. Preferential rations for “shock brigades” were introduced, and in 1932 the then very short food supplies were put under the direct control of the factory managers through the introduction of a kind of truck-system for allocation by results. July 1932 saw the abrogation of Article 37 of the 1922 Labor Code, under which the transfer of a worker from one enterprise to another could be effected only with his consent. On 7 August 1932 the death penalty was introduced for theft of State or collective property—a law which was immediately applied on a large scale. From November 1932, a single day’s unauthorized absence from work became punishable by instant dismissal. Finally, on 27 December 1932, came the reintroduction of the internal passport, denounced by Lenin as one of the worst stigmata of Tsarist backwardness and despotism.

The trade union system became simply an appendage of the State. Tomsky’s view that “it is impossible simultaneously to manage production on a commercial basis and to express and defend the workers’ economic interests” and that “first wages must be raised, and only then can we expect a rise in productivity” were publicly rejected at the IXth Trade Union Congress in April 1932, and his successor Shvernik put forward instead, as “the trade unions’ most important task,” the mass introduction of “piecework on the basis of … norms”—that is, the rigid payment-by-result which was to be the instrument of sweating the worker over the following decades.

However, the workers did not, on the whole, die. Industrial advances were made. The system of coercion, which became institutionalized at a less desperate level, worked in the sense that industry grew. It is clear that other methods could have produced much greater advance at far less human cost. But there were tangible results, and the Party could feel that the policy had proved successful.

Stalin’s other evident political objective had also been attained. In the struggle with the people, there was no room for neutrality. Loyalty could be called for from the Party membership on a war basis. He could demand absolute solidarity and use all rigor in stamping out weakness. The atmosphere of civil war resembled that of the foreign wars which autocrats have launched, throughout history, to enable them to silence the voices of criticism, to eliminate waverers. It was, once again, a question of “My party right or wrong.” The oppositionists made no move. The Menshevik Abramovitch is not being unfair when he says, “The famine evoked no reaction on the part of Trotsky, who found time and space to write of the ‘dreadful persecution’ of his own partisans in Russia and to denounce Stalin for the latter’s falsification of Trotsky’s biography. The ‘proletarian humanist’ Bukharin and the tempestuous Rykov likewise remained silent.”⁵³

Bukharin was, however, beginning to understand that “rapid socialization,” involving as it was bound to so much ruthlessness, dehumanized the ruling party. During the Revolution, he said privately, he had seen

things that I would not want even my enemies to see. Yet 1919 cannot even be compared with what happened between 1930 and 1932. In 1919 we were fighting for our lives. We executed people, but we also risked our lives in the process. In the later period, however, we were conducting a mass annihilation of completely defenseless men, together with their wives and children.⁵⁴

But he was even more concerned with the effect on the Party. Many Communists had been severely shaken. Some had committed suicide; others had gone mad. In his view, the worst result of the terror and famine in the country was not so much the sufferings of the peasantry, horrible though these were. It was the “deep changes in the psychological outlook of those Communists who participated in this campaign, and instead of going mad, became professional bureaucrats for whom terror was henceforth a normal method of administration, and obedience to any order from above a high virtue.” He spoke of a “real dehumanization of the people working in the Soviet apparatus.”⁵⁵

He and his friends nevertheless remained silent, awaiting a moment when Stalin, at last realized to be a unsuitable leader of State and Party, would somehow be removed from power. They had misunderstood the nature of this last problem.