The elections are coming off shortly. I work too, though I don’t believe in them. The situation would be just the same if, regardless of all intimidation, the patriotic masses were to secure a majority. Social Democracy is not particular about its means; it has roused the workmen with the story of the world-saving powers of the equal and secret ballot, and now when this has been obtained and it ought to submit to its judgment, the official Government journal says right out: “If Socialism were, for whatever reason, to lose the battle, it would be ultimately obliged to resort to arms against the counter-revolution....” The election can’t help us. Something else will have to happen.
And it will happen. It is in the air. A monster cord is tightening round us, and when it snaps it will draw blood from those it strikes.
March 9th.
The red fist is raised higher every day and becomes more and more threatening. In a friendly way it points occasionally to the gallows, and then towards gaol. This morning it has again honoured me with its attention. The official paper of the Social Democratic headquarters, under the title ‘The visiting Counter-Revolution,’ makes an onslaught on those who, without the knowledge of the Government, are communicating with the envoys of the Entente, and, in company with others, it calls me a counter-revolutionary spy.
Somebody gave me the paper on the staircase of the Protestant Theological College. The Evangelical students were giving a concert, and between the songs I was to give an address. The words of ‘The People’s Voice’ were still buzzing in my head when I stepped on the platform. I told the Protestant youths that every patriotic action which serves its purpose, that every patriotic word that hits the mark, regains a scrap of our torn country. The People’s Voice accused me this morning of being a counter-revolutionary spy. I don’t deny it, I try to inform foreign countries of the state of affairs by word of mouth and with my pen. I read an article of mine which a compatriot and his Swedish wife had taken to Stockholm for the Svenska Dagbladed. It was called: ‘An appeal from a nation’s scaffold.’ I left it to my audience to decide whether that was counter-revolution or patriotism.
When I came to the end of my address a loud voice shouted: “We want a hundred thousand similar counter-revolutionaries!” And the whole audience jumped up and took up the cry.
A wave passed over the hall, a wave which grows, spreads over the country, while from the other side there comes another wave coloured red. Which is faster, which will be the first to break the dyke? It is all a question of time.