Morozov’s responsibilities, like those of all commissars, were heavy. Though in purely military affairs he was subordinate to the regimental commander, he was responsible for the latter’s loyalty and equally answerable with him for discipline in the ranks; besides which the responsibility for all political propaganda (regarded by the Government as of paramount importance) and even for the accuracy of army service rested upon him. A regimental commissar’s responsibilities are, in fact, so great that he can rarely secure his own safety without having recourse to spying provocation, and “experimental denunciation.”
Even Morozov had to resort to questionable strategy of this nature to forestall possible treachery in others for which he would have been held responsible. Having been informed by a member of his “cell” that the conduct of a junior officer gave rise to misgivings, he had a purely fictitious charge made against him merely to see how the officer would be affected by it. It was found, as was not unusual, that the original complaint of the “political worker” was due to sheer spite, and that nothing had been further from the mind of the young officer, who was of a mild disposition, than to conspire against the all-powerful commissar. Anonymous written denunciations of individuals, charging them with counter-revolutionary activities, are of frequent occurrence, and commissars, terrified for their own safety, will rather err at the cost of the accused than risk their own positions through leniency or over-scrupulous attention to justice.
There is an intermediate grade between a “cell” leader and a commissar, known as a political guide. The latter has not the authority of a commissar but represents a stepping-stone to that dignity. Political guides have duties of investigation and control, but their chief task is to rope in the largest possible number of neophytes to the Communist Party. The whole power of the Bolshevist Government is founded on the diligence, zeal, and—it must be added—unscrupulousness of these various Communist officials. All sorts of instructions and propaganda pamphlets and leaflets are received by the “cells” in enormous quantities, and they have to see that such literature is distributed in the ranks and amongst the local population. It is read but little, for the soldiers and peasants are sick of the constant repetition of worn-out propagandist phrases. It was hoped originally that by the never-ending repetition of the words “vampires,” “bourgeois,” “class-struggle,” “bloodsucking capitalists and imperialists,” and so forth, some at least of the ideas presented would sink into the listeners’ minds and be taken for good coinage. But the results are almost negligible. It says much for the latent intelligence of the Russian peasant and worker that in spite of it all the members of “the party” number no more than some half-million, half of whom would be anything but Communists if they could. Propagandist leaflets are used principally for wrapping up herrings and making cigarettes, for mahorka (the pepper-like tobacco beloved of the Russian soldier) is still issued in small quantities.
The only positive result which has been obtained by the above propaganda is the rousing of hatred and revenge against everything “bourgeois.” The word bourgeois is as foreign to the Russian language as it is to the English, and the average Russian soldier’s conception of “bourgeois” is simply everything that is above his understanding. But by cleverly associating the idea of “bourgeois” with that of opulence and landed possessions, Bolshevist agitators have made great play with it.
Yet even this has cut less deep than might have been expected, considering the effort expended. Propaganda on a wide scale is possible only in the towns and the army, and the army is after all but a very small percentage of the whole peasantry. The vast majority of the peasants are at home in their villages, and Bolshevist propaganda and administration reach no farther than a limited area on either side of Russia’s sparse network of railways.
Every Communist organization throughout Russia has to present periodical reports to headquarters on the progress of its labours. It goes without saying that, from fear of censure, such reports are invariably drawn up in the most favourable light possible. Particularly is this the case in the army. If the membership of a “cell” does not increase, the supervising commissar or political guide will be asked the reason why. He will be publicly hauled over the coals for lack of energy, and unless his labours fructify he is liable to be lowered to an inferior post. Thus it is in the interest of Communist officials to coax, cajole, or even compel soldiers to enter the ranks of the party. The statistics supplied are collected at headquarters and summaries are published. It is according to these statistics that the membership of the Communist Party is a little more than half a million, out of the 120 or 130 million inhabitants of Soviet Russia.
Another feature of the Red army which is worthy of note is the group of organizations known as “Cultural-Enlightenment Committees,” which are entrusted with the work of entertaining and “enlightening” the soldiers. Being partly of an educational character the collaboration of non-Communists on these committees is indispensable, though rigid Communist control renders free participation by intellectuals impossible. There is also a lack of books. A department at headquarters, in which Maxim Gorky is interested, deals with the publication of scientific and literary works, but compared with the deluge of propagandist literature the work of his department is nil. The cultural-enlightenment committees arrange lectures on scientific subjects, dramatic performances, concerts, and cinema shows. The entertainments consist chiefly of the staging of “proletarian” plays, written to the order of the department of propaganda. From the artistic standpoint these plays are exceedingly bad—unmitigated Bolshevist atrocities—but their strong point is that they represent the class-struggle in a vivid and lurid light. As no one would go to see them alone, other plays, usually farces, or musical items are thrown in by way of attraction. Propagandist speeches by Lenin, Trotzky, Zinoviev and others, reproduced on gramophones, are sometimes reeled off in the intervals. Schools of reading and writing are attached to some cultural-enlightenment committees.
In my regiment we had no cultural-enlightenment committee. Being unnecessary for purposes of control they were not so universal as the “cells,” but depended to some extent for their establishment upon the enterprise of the commissar. Living, however, mostly in Petrograd, I came in touch through friends with other regiments than my own, and attended entertainments got up by cultural-enlightenment committees until I knew the propagandist speeches, which were always the same, almost by heart. Let me describe one such meeting. It was in the regiment of which Morozov was commissar. At this particular meeting I was to have functioned as amateur accompanist and should have done so if one of the singers, from a Petrograd theatre, had not unexpectedly brought a professional with her.[6]
The organizer of this entertainment, though he played but little part in the performance, deserves a word of mention. As a sailor, of about twenty years of age, he differed greatly from his fellows. He was not ill-favoured in looks, unintelligent but upright, and occupied the post of chairman of the Poor Committee of a house where I was an habitual visitor. I will refer to him as Comrade Rykov. Like Morozov, Rykov had had only an elementary education and knew nothing of history, geography, or literature. History for him dated from Karl Marx, whom he was taught to regard rather as the Israelites did Moses; while his conception of geography was confined to a division of the world’s surface into Red and un-Red. Soviet Russia was Red, capitalistic countries (of which he believed there were very few) were White; and “White” was an adjective no less odious than “bourgeois.” But Rykov’s instincts were none the less good and it was with a genuine desire to better the lot of the proletariat that he had drifted into “the party.” Under the Tsarist régime he had suffered maltreatment. He had seen his comrades bullied and oppressed. The first months of the revolution had been too tempestuous, especially for the sailors, and the forces at issue too complex, for a man of Rykov’s stamp to comprehend the causes underlying the failure of the Provisional Government. To him the Soviet Government personified the Revolution itself. A few catch-phrases, such as “dictatorship of the proletariat,” “tyranny of the bourgeoisie,” “robber-capitalism,” “Soviet emancipation” completely dominated his mind and it seemed to him indisputably just that the definition of these terms should be left absolutely to the great ones who had conceived them. Thus Rykov, like most Communists, was utterly blind to inconsistencies. The discussion of policy, especially of foreign policy, of which the rest of the world hears so much, was not attempted by him. Rykov accepted his directions unhesitatingly from “those who knew.” He never asked himself why the party was so small, and popular discontent he attributed, as he was told to do, to the pernicious agitation of Mensheviks and Socialist-Revolutionaries, who were but Monarchists in disguise. Rykov was the type of man the Bolsheviks were striving their utmost to entice into the Communist Party. He had three supreme recommendations: he was a untiring worker, his genuinely good motives would serve to popularize the party, and he never thought. It is independent thinkers the Bolsheviks cannot tolerate. Rykov, like a good Communist, accepted the dogma propounded from above and that was the alpha and omega of his creed. But when it came to doing something to improve the lot of his fellows, and, incidentally, to lead them into the true Communist path, Rykov was all there. In other realms he would have made an ideal Y.M.C.A. or Salvation Army worker, and it was not surprising that he was in great demand whenever it was a question of amusing or entertaining the soldiers.