EN ROUTE
Our train was about to leave Moscow when we were surprised by an
interesting visitor--Krasnoschekov, the president of the Far Eastern
Republic, who had recently arrived in the capital from Siberia. He had
heard of our presence in the city, but for some reason he could not
locate us. Finally he met Alexander Berkman who invited him to the
Museum car.
In appearance Krasnoschekov had changed tremendously since his Chicago
days, when, known as Tobinson, he was superintendent of the Workers'
Institute in that city. Then he was one of the many Russian emigrants
on the West Side, active as organizer and lecturer in the Socialist
movement. Now he looked a different man; his expression stern, the
stamp of authority on him, he seemed even to have grown taller. But at
heart he remained the same--simple and kind, the Tobinson we had known
in Chicago.
We had only a short time at our disposal and our visitor employed
it to give us an insight into the conditions in the Far East and
the local form of government. It consisted of representatives of
various political factions and "even Anarchists are with us," said
Krasnoschekov; "thus, for instance, Shatov is Minister of Railways. We
are independent in the East and there is free speech. Come over and try
us, you will find a field for your work." He invited Alexander Berkman
and myself to visit him in Chita and we assured him that we hoped to
avail ourselves of the invitation at some future time. He seemed to
have brought a different atmosphere and we were sorry to part so soon.
On the way from Petrograd to Moscow the Expedition had been busy
putting its house in order. As already mentioned, the car consisted
of six compartments, two of which were converted into a dining room
and kitchen. They were of diminutive size, but we managed to make a
presentable dining room of one, and the kitchen might have made many
a housekeeper envy us. A large Russian samovar and all necessary
copper and zinc pots and kettles were there, making a very effective
appearance. We were especially proud of the decorative curtains on our
car windows. The other compartments were used for office and sleeping
quarters. I shared mine with our secretary, Miss A. T. Shakol.
Besides Alexander Berkman, appointed by the Museum as chairman and
general manager, Shakol as secretary, and myself as treasurer and
housekeeper, the Expedition consisted of three other members, including
a young Communist, a student of the Petrograd University. En route
we mapped out our plan of work, each member of the Expedition being
assigned some particular branch of it. I was to gather data in the
Departments of Education and Health, the Bureaus of Social Welfare and
Labour Distribution, as well as in the organization known as Workers'
and Peasants' Inspection. After the day's work all the members were to
meet in the car to consider and classify the material collected during
the day.
Our first stop was Kursk. Nothing of importance was collected there
except a pair of _kandai_ [iron handcuffs] which had been worn by
a revolutionist in Schlüsselburg. It was donated to us by a chance
passer-by who, noticing the inscription on our car, "Extraordinary
Commission of the Museum of the Revolution," became interested
and called to pay us a visit. He proved to be an intellectual,
a Tolstoian, the manager of a children's colony. He succeeded in
maintaining the latter by giving the Soviet Government a certain amount
of labour required of him: three days a week he taught in the Soviet
schools of Kursk. The rest of his time he devoted to his little colony,
or the "Children's Commune," as he affectionately called it. With
the help of the children and some adults they raised the vegetables
necessary for the support of the colony and made all the repairs of
the place. He stated that he had not been directly interfered with
by the Government, but that his work was considerably handicapped by
discrimination against him as a pacifist and Tolstoian. He feared that
because of it his place could not be continued much longer. There was
no trading of any sort in Kursk at the time, and one had to depend for
supplies on the local authorities. But discrimination and antagonism
manifested themselves against independent initiative and effort.
The Tolstoian, however, was determined to make a fight, spiritually
speaking, for the life of his colony. He was planning to go to the
centre, to Moscow, where he hoped to get support in favour of his
commune.
The personality of the man, his eagerness to make himself useful, did
not correspond with the information I had received from Communists
about the _intelligentsia_, their indifference and unwillingness to
help revolutionary Russia. I broached the subject to our visitor. He
could only speak of the professional men and women of Kursk, his native
city, but he assured us that he found most of them, and especially the
teachers, eager to coöperate and even self-sacrificing. But they were
the most neglected class, living in semi-starvation all the time. Like
himself, they were exposed to general antagonism, even on the part of
the children whose minds had been poisoned by agitation against the
_intelligentsia_.
Kursk is a large industrial centre and I was interested in the fate
of the workers there. We learned from our visitor that there had been
repeated skirmishes between the workers and the Soviet authorities.
A short time before our arrival a strike had broken out and soldiers
were sent to quell it. The usual arrests followed and many workers were
still in the Tcheka. This state of affairs, the Tolstoian thought,
was due to general Communist incompetence rather than to any other
cause. People were placed in responsible positions not because of their
fitness but owing to their party membership. Political usefulness was
the first consideration and it naturally resulted in general abuse of
power and confusion. The Communist dogma that the end justifies all
means was also doing much harm. It had thrown the door wide open to the
worst human passions, and discredited the ideals of the Revolution. The
Tolstoian spoke sadly, as one speaks of a hope cherished and loved, and
lost.
The next morning our visitor donated to our collection the _kandali_ he
had worn for many years in prison. He hoped that we might return by way
of Kursk so that we could pay a visit to some Tolstoian communes in the
environs of the city. Not far from Yasnaya Polyana there lived an old
peasant friend of Tolstoi, he told us. He had much valuable material
that he might contribute to the Museum. Our visitor remained to the
moment of our departure; he was starved for intellectual companionship
and was loath to see us go.