PREPARING FOR AMERICAN DEPORTEES
Events in Moscow, quickly following each other, were full of interest.
I wanted to remain in that vital city, but as I had left all my effects
in Petrograd I decided to return there and then come back to Moscow to
join Lunacharsky in his work. A few days before my departure a young
woman, an Anarchist, came to visit me. She was from the Petrograd
Museum of the Revolution and she called to inquire whether I would take
charge of the Museum branch work in Moscow. She explained that the
original idea of the Museum was due to the famous old revolutionist
Vera Nikolaievna Figner, and that it had recently been organized by
non-partisan elements. The majority of the men and women who worked in
the Museum were not Communists, she said; but they were devoted to the
Revolution and anxious to create something which could in the future
serve as a source of information and inspiration to earnest students
of the great Russian Revolution. When my caller was informed that I was
about to return to Petrograd, she invited me to visit the Museum and to
become acquainted with its work.
Upon my arrival in Petrograd I found unexpected work awaiting me.
Zorin informed me that he had been notified by Tchicherin that a
thousand Russians had been deported from America and were on their way
to Russia. They were to be met at the border and quarters were to be
immediately prepared for them in Petrograd. Zorin asked me to join the
Commission about to be organized for that purpose.
The plan of such a commission for American deportees had been broached
to Zorin soon after our arrival in Russia. At that time Zorin directed
us to talk the matter over with Tchicherin, which we did. But three
months passed without anything having been done about it. Meanwhile,
our comrades of the _Buford_ were still walking from department to
department, trying to be placed where they might do some good. They
were a sorry lot, those men who had come to Russia with such high
hopes, eager to render service to the revolutionary people. Most of
them were skilled workers, mechanics--men Russia needed badly; but
the cumbersome Bolshevik machine and general inefficiency made it a
very complex matter to put them to work. Some had tried independently
to secure jobs, but they could accomplish very little. Moreover, those
who found employment were soon made to feel that the Russian workers
resented the eagerness and intensity of their brothers from America.
"Wait till you have starved as long as we," they would say, "wait till
you have tasted the blessings of Commissarship, and we will see if you
are still so eager." In every way the deportees were discouraged and
their enthusiasm dampened.
To avoid this unnecessary waste of energy and suffering the Commission
was at last organized in Petrograd. It consisted of Ravitch, the then
Minister of Internal Affairs for the Northern District; her secretary,
Kaplun; two members of the Bureau of War Prisoners; Alexander Berkman,
and myself. The new deportees were due in two weeks, and much work
was to be done to prepare for their reception. It was unfortunate
that no active participation could be expected from Ravitch because
her time was too much occupied. Besides holding the post of Minister
of the Interior she was Chief of the Petrograd Militia, and she also
represented the Moscow Foreign Office in Petrograd. Her regular working
hours were from 8 A. M. to 2 A. M. Kaplun, a very able administrator,
had charge of the entire internal work of the Department and could
therefore give us very little of his time. There remained only four
persons to accomplish within a short time the big task of preparing
living quarters for a thousand deportees in starved and ruined Russia.
Moreover, Alexander Berkman, heading the Reception Committee, had to
leave for the Latvian border to meet the exiles.
It was an almost impossible task for one person, but I was very anxious
to save the second group of deportees the bitter experiences and the
disappointments of my fellow companions of the _Buford_. I could
undertake the work only by making the condition that I be given the
right of entry to the various government departments, for I had learned
by that time how paralysing was the effect of the bureaucratic red
tape which delayed and often frustrated the most earnest and energetic
efforts. Kaplun consented. "Call on me at any time for anything you may
require," he said; "I will give orders that you be admitted everywhere
and supplied with everything you need. If that should not help, call
on the Tcheka," he added. I had never called upon the police before, I
informed him; why should I do so in revolutionary Russia? "In bourgeois
countries that is a different matter," explained Kaplun; "with us the
Tcheka defends the Revolution and fights sabotage." I started on my
work determined to do without the Tcheka. Surely there must be other
methods, I thought.
Then began a chase over Petrograd. Materials were very scarce and
it was most difficult to procure them owing to the unbelievably
centralized Bolshevik methods. Thus to get a pound of nails one had to
file applications in about ten or fifteen bureaus; to secure some bed
linen or ordinary dishes one wasted days. Everywhere in the offices
crowds of Government employees stood about smoking cigarettes, awaiting
the hour when the tedious task of the day would be over. My co-workers
of the War Prisoners' Bureau fumed at the irritating and unnecessary
delays, but to no purpose. They threatened with the Tcheka, with the
concentration camp, even with _raztrel_ (shooting). The latter was the
most favourite argument. Whenever any difficulty arose one immediately
heard _raztreliat_--to be shot. But the expression, so terrible in its
significance, was gradually losing its effect upon the people: man gets
used to everything.
I decided to try other methods. I would talk to the employees in
the departments about the vital interest the conscious American
workers felt in the great Russian Revolution, and of their faith and
hope in the Russian proletariat. The people would become interested
immediately, but the questions they would ask were as strange as they
were pitiful: "Have the people enough to eat in America? How soon will
the Revolution be there? Why did you come to starving Russia?" They
were eager for information and news, these mentally and physically
starved people, cut off by the barbarous blockade from all touch with
the western world. Things American were something wonderful to them. A
piece of chocolate or a cracker were unheard-of dainties--they proved
the key to everybody's heart.
Within two weeks I succeeded in procuring most of the things needed
for the expected deportees, including furniture, linen, and dishes. A
miracle, everybody said.
However, the renovation of the houses that were to serve as living
quarters for the exiles was not accomplished so easily. I inspected
what, as I was told, had once been first-class hotels. I found them
located in the former prostitute district; cheap dives they were, until
the Bolsheviki closed all brothels. They were germ-eaten, ill-smelling,
and filthy. It was no small problem to turn those dark holes into a
fit habitation within two weeks. A coat of paint was a luxury not to
be thought of. There was nothing else to do but to strip the rooms
of furniture and draperies, and have them thoroughly cleaned and
disinfected.
One morning a group of forlorn-looking creatures, in charge of two
militiamen, were brought to my temporary office. They came to work, I
was informed. The group consisted of a one-armed old man, a consumptive
woman, and eight boys and girls, mere children, pale, starved, and in
rags. "Where do these unfortunates come from?" I inquired. "They are
speculators," one of the militiamen replied; "we rounded them up on
the market." The prisoners began to weep. They were no speculators,
they protested; they were starving, they had received no bread in two
days. They were compelled to go out to the market to sell matches or
thread to secure a little bread. In the midst of this scene the old
man fainted from exhaustion, demonstrating better than words that he
had speculated only in hunger. I had seen such "speculators" before,
driven in groups through the streets of Moscow and Petrograd by convoys
with loaded guns pointed at the backs of the prisoners.
I could not think of having the work done by these starved creatures.
But the militiamen insisted that they would not let them go; they had
orders to make them work. I called up Kaplun and informed him that
I considered it out of the question to have quarters for American
deportees prepared by Russian convicts whose only crime was hunger.
Thereupon Kaplun ordered the group set free and consented that I give
them of the bread sent for the workers' rations. But a valuable day was
lost.
The next morning a group of boys and girls came singing along the
Nevski Prospekt. They were _kursanti_ from the Tauride Palace who were
sent to my office to work. On my first visit to the palace I had been
shown the quarters of the _kursanti_, the students of the Bolshevik
academy. They were mostly village boys and girls housed, fed, clothed,
and educated by the Government, later to be placed in responsible
positions in the Soviet régime. At the time I was impressed by the
institutions, but by April I had looked somewhat beneath the surface.
I recalled what a young woman, a Communist, had told me in Moscow
about these students. "They are the special caste now being reared in
Russia," she had said. "Like the church which maintains and educates
its religious priesthood, our Government trains a military and civic
priesthood. They are a favoured lot." I had more than one occasion to
convince myself of the truth of it. The _kursanti_ were being given
every advantage and many special privileges. They knew their importance
and they behaved accordingly.
Their first demand when they came to me was for the extra rations of
bread they had been promised. This demand satisfied, they stood about
and seemed to have no idea of work. It was evident that whatever else
the _kursanti_ might be taught, it was not to labour. But, then, few
people in Russia know how to work. The situation looked hopeless. Only
ten days remained till the arrival of the deportees, and the "hotels"
assigned for their use were still in as uninhabitable a condition as
before. It was no use to threaten with the Tcheka, as my co-workers
did. I appealed to the boys and girls in the spirit of the American
deportees who were about to arrive in Russia full of enthusiasm for
the Revolution and eager to join in the great work of reconstruction.
The _kursanti_ were the pampered charges of the Government, but they
were not long from the villages, and they had had no time to become
corrupt. My appeal was effective. They took up the work with a will,
and at the end of ten days the three famous hotels were ready as far as
willingness to work and hot water without soap could make them. We were
very proud of our achievement and we eagerly awaited the arrival of the
deportees.
At last they came, but to our great surprise they proved to be no
deportees at all. They were Russian war prisoners from Germany.
The misunderstanding was due to the blunder of some official in
Tchicherin's office who misread the radio information about the party
due at the border. The prepared hotels were locked and sealed; they
were not to be used for the returned war prisoners because "they were
prepared for American deportees who still might come." All the efforts
and labour had been in vain.