"Nobody in Russia relying wholly upon 'Sovietsky' food--food handed out through official agencies--gets enough to eat except soldiers, a small percentage of heavy workers and high Soviet officials. Ordinary factory workers seldom receive as much as 60 per cent of their alimentary requirements through the Government. The remainder they must buy at fantastically high prices from speculators. And though they themselves, in collaboration with central dictatorship, fix their own wages, they never earn enough to cover the swift-climbing cost of living. If this is the plight of the workers, that is, of the ruling class, the ghastliness of the situation confronting the less favored elements of the population may well be imagined."
Is it in irony that Eyre speaks of these "workers" as "the ruling class"? What are the real workmen in Russia but victims of this cruel experiment of tyrannizing Socialist "intellectuals"?
We remark next, in the twelfth place, that the Soviet system of food distribution, wholly unequal and thus anti-communistic, has resulted in dividing the Russians into eight classes, each category having a special card defining its special ration. The account of this is given by Lincoln Eyre in a cable dated March 9, 1920, and published in the "New York World" of March 10, 1920, from which we take two sentences:
"The commissariat of food control has gradually built up no less than eight distinct classes.... Special cards also are provided for children from one, two to five and from five to sixteen. It will be seen that this totals eight distinct varieties of card."
The affect of these distinctions may be gathered from the following instance given in the article just cited:
"In the month of November there was distributed by the Petrograd Soviet altogether 13,631,480 pounds of bread.... Had all the bread been divided evenly among the whole population, each person would have had about one-half a pound a a day, whereas, in fact, one category got much less than that amount daily and the third category none at all."
In the thirteenth place, we note that the Russian Socialist tyrants give the workmen, in exchange for their labor, pieces of paper run off from printing presses which seem almost to have solved the problem of perpetual motion. The workmen are wise if they spend this fiat money daily for whatever it will bring in food, for its value will collapse utterly when the dictatorship bursts, leaving the country financially prostrate, without credit or means of exchange. This is one of the greatest bunco games ever practiced upon workingmen. Eyre describes it in a cable dated March 3, 1920, and published in the "New York World" of March 4, 1920, from which we quote:
"In 'the Socialist Federative Republic of Soviets of Russia,' to give the Bolshevik land its official title, no mention has been made of finance. The reason for this is simple. There is no finance, in the European or American sense of the word, in present Russia. The Soviet Government pays its own people what it has to pay in paper money, of which it prints unlimited quantities. Being determined eventually to abolish money altogether in favor of Communistic exchange of products, it is not worried about depreciation in the value of its currency. It possesses about 1,000,000,000 rubles--the exact amount is kept very secret--in gold, with which it intends to pay for goods purchased abroad until it can establish a system of barter with foreign commercial interests. From the capitalistic viewpoint its budgetary expenditures are chaotic, but in Communistic eyes they are both sane and logical."
Only to minds financially insane or criminally degenerate could such a system seem "sane and logical." Their carefully kept store of gold shows that the Bolshevist dictators are not insane but criminal. They understand their game, which is that of bunco-steering to "exploit" labor on the largest scale the world has ever seen. Honest paper money is a promise to pay, for value received, in gold, silver or good merchandise. If this form is used by these frauds, it is with the deliberate intention of repudiation, the possibility of payment being also destroyed by the floods of the stuff turned out. If the paper given is not a promise to pay, it is circulated simply through the tyranny of men who by threat of punishment or starvation force workingmen to exchange a day's labor for a bit of food and a piece of paper. In either case the labor exploiters in the Kremlin exact from Russia's workingmen, in exchange for a little food and a wad of paper, a genuine value, the product of hard labor, which these get-rich-quick Wallingfords can turn into gold, or exchange with the world for anything they want. All that Russian workingmen get is semi-starvation and the temporary delusion, conveyed to them in fine speeches, that they are "in the game," whereas they are only its dupes.
The worthless character of the paper money, which the workmen nevertheless have to take and spend to keep soul and body together, is shown by the fact that the peasants refuse it. In his cable printed in the "New York World" of February 27, 1920, Eyre says that "the peasant twenty miles outside of Moscow ... has more food than he can eat, more clothes than he can wear," yet "refuses to sell his products for money except that proportion of them that he is compelled to turn over to the Soviets at a fixed price. In private trading," Eyre continues, "he will take in exchange for his foodstuffs only manufactured articles, clothing and other things he needs." Thus the peasant is fortunate in that he lives on land where he can at least raise enough to eat; whereas the "proletarian," in whose behalf the Socialists pretend to have made the Russian revolution, is most of all victimized by it.