Siberia To-Day

by Frederick Ferdinand Moore

I do not believe that Bolshevism is going to be destroyed by “decisive defeats” of Bolshevist armies. Bolshevist forces have been “decisively defeated” time and again, and driven out of many cities, only to reorganize in the rear of their attackers. Bolshevism can only be smothered by attacking the idea of Bolshevism, for it is a soul-disease which has infected vast masses of people who have been wronged for centuries.

I do not object to the fact that these people wish to correct the wrongs of government, the wrongs of exploitation, the wrongs of enforced poverty which they have endured in a land of great natural wealth. The greatest wrong which has been committed against them is the system which has kept them in ignorance. They must be saved from their own ignorance. They must be saved from a new exploitation which is greater than any they have ever known. I do not believe that wrongs against a people can be righted by committing new wrongs.

These people who are Bolshevist in their tendencies, are Bolshevist because they have not seen anything better than Bolshevism, which was visualized for them in tons of worthless money distributed to them. We must demonstrate good government to them, even though we have to “interfere” to do so. They are ready to swing to anything which proves its worth. We have attempted to prove things by reasoning, when they are not equipped mentally to reason. They suspect and fear us because we reason while we have an expedition on their ground—and soldiers to them mean intimidation, treachery and death. They do not trust each other, how can they trust us? They do not trust the Japanese, and we are allied with the Japanese.

XXVII
THE JOKER IN BOLSHEVISM

The Bolshevists of Siberia hate wall-paper. After traveling in that country, I came to the conclusion that a Bolshevist operates on the theory that there can be no freedom for anybody so long as a single strip of wall-paper remains on any wall. Neither can there be any freedom while glassware is unbroken, furniture unsmashed, curtains are whole, windows intact, books unburned. And the parlor Bolshevists of the United States, if they were really consistent, would stop talking and start a little freedom in their own homes by pulling everything down that is up, and pulling everything up that is down, sweeping the total into the street and putting a match to it.

There is a joker in this “new form of government” known as Bolshevism. In fact, the joker is the very core of the whole matter. Mutilated wall-paper gave me my first inkling of that joker. In Chita, the searchers after freedom had done a thorough job. For not only were the interior walls of the town everywhere stripped clean, but, according to the proprietor of a local store the stock in the different shops had gone to feed the bon-fires.

“So the Bolshevists hate wall-paper even before it is hung,” I said to this merchant.

“Yes,” he replied through my interpreter. “I heard from a friend in another town that soon we’d be able to get some from Japan. But a German prisoner of war, who helps my wife with the cooking, says to wait till the railroad opens up to Petrograd, and then I’ll be able to get cheaper and better wall-paper from Germany.”

I lunched that day at the Hotel Dayooria. A German prisoner of war was my waiter. He was a meek sort of person who had set out from home with Kultur on the point of his bayonet and now found himself a slave in a foreign land. He served my tea in a glass that had been made from a wine bottle by cutting the top off. The upper edge of the glass was dangerously sharp.

“I am sorry, captain,” said the waiter; “—no other glasses now.” (He spoke in English. He had learned it in a German school. He gently hinted that any stray magazines I might have would be welcome.)