IV
OUR RUSSIAN NEIGHBOR
I mention the Russian not because large immigration has set in from Russia, but because I am personally acquainted with work among these people and because they are coming in increased numbers. When the Russian wishes to change his home, he is usually directed to some part of his own vast empire, and large numbers are settling in what was one time thought to be ice-bound Siberia, and are there successfully engaged in farming. There is, however, a constantly rising tide of immigration among the Russians. In 1901, 672 entered the United States. In 1911, 20,121, the largest number to date, was reported by the Commissioner of Immigration.
Intellectually. There is much ignorance among these newcomers. Over thirty in every one hundred who landed in 1911 did not know how either to read or write. A number of the Russians in New York are revolutionists of various classes; they are almost always led by the Jew, who acts as public speaker and general leader in most Russian affairs. About two-thirds of those who come are unskilled farm laborers and common laborers.
Religiously. While a large number of those who land are members of the Russian Greek Church, most of them are members of groups hostile to the church, although many of this latter class are unusually fine men. They are exiles from their country for causes that would often bring them honor in any really enlightened land. In fact, America has little idea of the great riches in heroism, sacrifice and splendid lives that are hidden away in the forbidding tenements of its great cities. The Russians’ dislike of the church is deep seated and intense, for the Church of Russia has been the judge that sentenced them, the jailer that imprisoned them, the knout that whipped them. The Greek Church in many ways is an out-of-date church. It is an enemy of progress and free thought, the greatest ally of a cruel government. These men, knowing no other church than that of Russia, do not understand the difference between the Christianity found in America and this church of the Middle Ages in Russia.
One of the best loved and most influential Russians in New York City said to me recently, “My wish is to elevate my countrymen. Too many of them hold their club meetings in saloons and are given over to drinking habits. But I cannot have anything to do with the Christian church, for if I did I would be compelled to forget how the church has injured me and I have suffered too much from it to do that.” The Jews share in this attitude of the Russian toward the church.
“Can any country afford to lose such men?” I put that question to myself as I looked over an audience of six hundred stalwart young Russians, their faces alight with intelligence, their whole bearing showing sturdy self-reliance, and yet lovable and teachable, withal. The place was an East Side hall, and the occasion a gathering to do honor to a Russian fellow countryman, and to enjoy a Russian play. The countryman was an exile because he wished to hasten the day of freedom for his beloved land. He was a man with a noble, melancholy face, and eyes that looked love and friendship. One wondered what that scholarly man could have done to have the sentence of death passed upon him.
The play when given in Russia was immediately suppressed, and yet it is founded on an actual happening. Imagine yourself with me at the Russian hall; let us take a seat and hear what the play is about and maybe we shall learn why it is that many Russians do not like the church. The players will speak in Russian, but we shall understand them for we shall have some one beside us to translate the Russian into English.
Now all is quiet. Here enters a young student in a red shirt and big top boots. He feels very important, for he has just arrived home from the University at St. Petersburg. His sister is with him. They are talking about a monastery in their village. “You know how the great monastery near us deceives the people,” says the brother. “You know how the monks pretend the sacred ikon (image) on the altar works miracles, and how the poor peasants have to give the monks hard-earned money. You know how these cheats tell the authorities of any one who says he is dissatisfied with the government. And you know, too, that these monks are not good men.”
“Yes,” the sister says, “I am sorry that what you say is true. The monastery ought to be a great blessing to our village, but instead it is a great curse.”
“Then,” cries the student, walking up and down and much excited, “I am going to open the eyes of the people and show them that the monastery is a wicked fraud.”