Russian March

Russia’s participation in the First World War officially ended on March 3, 1918, with the signing of the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk between the new Bolshevik government and the Central Powers. The treaty represented Germany’s last real hope for victory, and it soon launched an all-out offensive in Flanders and northern France. Despite a herculean effort and huge losses, the German Army was not able to turn the war’s tide. For Russia, this was no longer a matter of central concern – it had its own problems and a war of its own.

The Soviet delegation to Brest, which was headed by Grigory Sokolnikov, signed away vast territories, committed to pay massive reparations, and pledged to stop spreading revolutionary propaganda in the other signatories’ countries. These concessions were made with no negotiation whatsoever. As Sokolnikov put it, there was nothing to discuss, as Russia was compelled to accept the treaty’s terms “at gunpoint.”

By early March, negotiations were indeed pointless. Germany’s February offensive had shown that Russia no longer had a functioning army: it was disintegrating with each passing day, allowing the Germans to gobble up more and more territory. What had happened to the Russian Army that had fought bravely against Germany and Austria from 1914 to 1917 and begun making significant headway in 1916? By early 1918 it was utterly demoralized. Of course, trench fatigue and the extreme hardships of war played a role. Then again, the armies of Russia’s adversaries faced similar hardships and still soldiered on.

The difference was that, over the course of 1917, not only did the Russian Army begin to deteriorate, but the chain of command was completely disrupted. Order No. 1, which was issued by the Petrograd Soviet soon after the February revolution, placed the entire Petrograd garrison under the control of revolutionaries, essentially stripping the army’s officers of their authority. The rest of the military followed suit. Along all fronts and in every regiment, soldiers’ committees took charge. It became almost impossible for military leaders to command their troops.

And then came the Bolsheviks.

Lenin had spent the war in emigration vehemently agitating for peace. In 1914, when mobilization was underway in Russia, he published an article telling Russians they should hope that their government would be defeated, turning an “imperialist war into a civil war.” He was basically urging soldiers to turn their bayonets against their own government. For a long time this position was met with incredulity and ridicule, but once he took a stance, Lenin was not one to waver. With a determination worthy of a better cause, he called on all of Europe’s socialists who opposed the war to join him in Switzerland. Only a handful answered his call, but this did not discourage him – let there be few, so long as they are fully committed.

In 1917, Lenin’s strategy suddenly began to work. People were so war weary that any antiwar rhetoric attracted followers. After the tsarist regime was overthrown, Lenin returned to Russia and began to demand an immediate end to the war. He also called for the overthrow of the Provisional Government, the transfer of power to the soviets, and the nationalization of all property, but all anyone heard – especially soldiers, who were no longer willing to die for the obscure geopolitical interests of the great powers  – was “End the war! End the war!” In just half a year, the Bolsheviks went from the political fringe to being hugely popular. By October they had seized power, out-maneuvered all other parties, and confiscated land from the nobility. Now it was time to deal with the war.

In a way, it seemed that the matter was already settled. Among the first things the Bolsheviks did after coming to power was issue the Peace Decree calling for the immediate cessation of the war. The decree was strategically worded as an appeal to “peoples and their governments.” The subtle suggestion was that if governments were not willing to negotiate, ordinary citizens should take matters into their own hands and overthrow them. This did not work out as well as the Bolsheviks had hoped. They had never wanted Russia to be the only country to carry out a revolution; “world revolution” had always been the goal. For many years they had debated whether or not Russia was ready for socialism, as it was a country where the proletariat was tiny and peasants made up a huge proportion of the population. Peasants were fond of what little property they had, so they were seen as insufficiently revolutionary. What was the way out of this quandary?

The solution was simple. After all, there were countries with plenty of workers and strong revolutionary traditions, much stronger than in Russia. Surely, the people of those countries would also rise up and support the Russian revolutionaries. The entire world would then live happily ever after as one big commune.

Among the countries considered ripe for revolution, Germany topped the list. It had a huge working class and the powerful Social Democratic Party. It was the land of countless revolutionaries, Marx and Engels, the fathers of Marxism, first and foremost. Of course the German proletariat would support their Russian brothers.

But Germany also happened to be the country with which Russia needed to negotiate peace. This put the Bolsheviks in an awkward position. The war was obviously heightening a general sense of dissatisfaction in Germany, so the longer it continued, the greater the chance that it would also succumb to revolution. The Germans were just as tired of fighting as the Russians, so this was not a vain hope.

In early 1918 the Bolsheviks faced a dilemma. Clearly, if they did not conclude a peace treaty with Germany, Russia would collapse, or rather the Bolshevik government – whose main appeal was the promise of a quick end to the war – would collapse. The German representatives at Brest-Litovsk surely knew this, which is why they demanded such ruthless terms. On the other hand, by signing a peace treaty, the Bolsheviks would be undermining their  “German brothers” who were agitating for revolution. And the German government would be able to free up troops to suppress revolution at home. The long-awaited world revolution hung in the balance.

What were the Bolsheviks to do? A selfless majority in the Central Committee opposed concluding a treaty, feeling the fate of German workers could not be subjected to the whims of fate. Even if Germany were to defeat Russia, after the revolution the Bolsheviks would soon be back in power anyway.

Back in power? Lenin refused to even contemplate jeopardizing his power. What if world revolution would have to wait? What if Russia would lose a lot of territory? What mattered was that the Bolsheviks would stay in power and he, Vladimir Ulyanov-Lenin, would retain his role as benefactor to the Russian people, meanwhile tightening the screws of his dictatorship.

Historians have long since gained a detailed view of the positions of various politicians during that winter of 1918, how each Central Committee member voted, the ins and outs of the Brest-Litovsk negotiations, Germany’s ultimatum, Trotsky’s refusal to submit to it, the German offensive, and, finally, the consent of the new delegation, now headed by Sokolnikov rather than Trotsky.

Many revolutionaries saw the signing of the Brest-Litovsk treaty as an act of treachery. The left SRs (members of the Socialist Revolutionary Party), the Bolsheviks’ only allies in the government, resigned in protest. Germany occupied the Baltics, Ukraine, and Crimea. The Entente saw what was happening as a betrayal and occupied several Russian ports to guard the weapons they had shipped to their ally Russia. Later this would be referred to as the beginning of a foreign intervention. But Lenin had gotten what he wanted: he had held on to power.

In the Soviet era, the Brest-Litovsk treaty was presented as a necessary evil, crucial to the Soviet government’s survival. The much more shameful Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, concluded 21 years later, would be described in similar terms.

In 1987, just as perestroika was getting underway, Mikhail Shatrov staged a play, The Brest Peace («Брестский мир») in Moscow. Shatrov was well known for his interest in early Soviet history. Back in the 1960s, the Sovremennik Theater produced his play, The Bolsheviks, depicting members of the Council of People’s Commissars discussing whether or not to unleash a “Red Terror” after the attempt on Lenin’s life in 1918. The play ended with the singing of The International. This ending was supposed to symbolize “pure Bolshevism,” free of Stalinist impurities. The audience rose from its seats and sang along. It looked as if “Lenin’s truth” had triumphed after all.

When The Brest Peace came out, it was learned that Shatrov had written this play about the debates surrounding the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk nearly 25 years earlier, but had not been allowed to publish it. The production at the Vakhtangov Theater featured the renowned Mikhail Ulyanov in the role of Lenin. It sent shockwaves through society, with its depictions not only of Lenin, but of a not very appealing Stalin and of Trotsky, who was also not portrayed very sympathetically, but at least not as the bloodthirsty schemer he had traditionally been made out to be. Even Lenin’s paramour, Inessa Armand, was there. Lenin came off as a lonely, somewhat pitiable figure, isolated from his comrades-in-arms. Stalin was shown supporting Lenin during the Brest crisis (Stalin’s stance was probably explained by his antipathy toward Trotsky). Shatrov’s play subtly foreshadows Stalin’s impending rise to power (there is even a stage direction for Stalin to remain on stage “although one really wants him to leave”).

Today, it is hard to believe that a play about a lonely and noble Vladimir Ilyich toiling tirelessly to save the revolution would be of any interest. Maybe someday there will be a play about how Lenin applied the full force of his dictatorial nature to push through a calamitous decision so he could retain power. Then again, our history is rich in dramatic episodes, so maybe not.

Thirty-five years and two days after the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk was signed, after enduring the horrors of civil war, the famine brought on by collectivization, the Great Terror, and world war, the country was plunged into profound and desperate sorrow. It learned that Stalin had died. It is not known precisely when the father of all peoples gave up his soul to the devil. Perhaps he died several days before the official date of March 5, and his “inner circle” had been afraid to make the announcement.

It is also not known precisely how he died. Was he murdered by close associates afraid of a new party purge? Did someone slip him the wrong medicine? Or did he just have a stroke and lie helplessly on the floor, because his bodyguards were afraid to enter the room without being summoned? These questions have generated a great deal more debate than the Brest-Litovsk treaty. Legends surrounding March 1953 abound.

What was Stalin’s inner circle after? Was there really a conspiracy? Was the infamous “Voroshilov amnesty” announced a few weeks after Stalin’s death truly as awful as described? Its essence was that Beria, Stalin’s immediate successor, intentionally released from prison violent criminals, who then came flooding into large cities (this is probably not true; the amnesty covered only those with sentences of less than five years, and under Stalin only the most minor offenses garnered such short terms). There has also been endless speculation about what kind of a person Beria was: a bloodthirsty and perverted sadist, or a potential reformer who might have introduced a more cohesive set of reforms than Khrushchev did (hard to say: both characterizations could be accurate).

One thing is for sure: we will continue to return to the events of 1953 over and over, especially in the near future.

In recent times, an initially subtle (“creeping,” as they used to say in Soviet times) but now unabashed rehabilitation of Stalin has been underway in Russia. Minor but repulsive events, such as the opening of memorials to Stalin on the sites of former labor camps and the appearance of a Stalin museum in a village where he spent all of one night, at first provoked no more than contemptuous smirks. An icon depicting Stalin might indeed be something to laugh at, but the restoration of a mosaic of Stalin in Moscow’s Kursk metro station is another matter.

And then it turned out that a ban was being placed on laughing about Stalin. In January 2018 the Ministry of Culture gave permission for showings of Armando Ianucci’s black comedy, The Death of Stalin. The film was timed to come out right before the 65th anniversary of Stalin’s death. And it took just two days for the servile gatekeepers of culture (supposedly on their own initiative) to issue a letter demanding that this denigration of Stalin’s memory be prohibited. We do not know whether this was really their idea or yet another farce being acted out by the ministry based on certain concerns. In any event, several days after permission was issued, the ministry, supposedly in response to “public opinion,” recalled the film. It had been shown for only two days at the Pioneer movie theater. Now, Russians can only see it on the internet.

Of course, anyone who wants to can see the film, but the hysterics surrounding this incident is no laughing matter. There were speeches in the Duma and pronouncements by other public figures calling the film “a caricature,” “a sham,” and “a mockery.” The entire political establishment rose in defense of the vozhd. (See Notebook, page 7.)

All this has been taking place in the lead up to another historic event. Presidential elections will take place in March, and Vladimir Putin, after playing hard to get for a bit, finally acquiesced: so be it, I’ll run. Students and government workers were bused in by the thousands to the points where signatures are collected to support the candidacy of the much beloved Vladimir Vladimirovich, and many prominent cultural figures – some clowns and some truly exceptional artists – are among Putin’s “authorized representatives” (доверенные лица, basically official supporters, a status created under Russian election laws). The other candidates are a rather odd assortment, including the communist Grudinin, who is apparently supposed to symbolize the revival of the left, the socialite and television host Ksenia Sobchak, who is proclaiming that people who don’t want “any of the above,” but can’t choose this option, since it isn’t on the ballot, should vote for her. Meanwhile, Putin’s only serious rival is not on the ballot and won’t get there.

Alexei Navalny has been barred from running. After all, he is a convicted criminal, even if the charges were fabricated, the trials were rigged, and the European Court of Human Rights has ruled that Russia violated Navalny’s right to a fair trial. But it seems that Navalny is not interested in playing by someone else’s rules. For a year now, beginning in March 2017, he has been getting young Russians out protesting, not only in Moscow and St. Petersburg, but in many smaller cities as well. He has been prohibited from doing this, but he persists.

Suddenly, through all this, the government realized that young people – high school as well as university students – are not afraid to attend “unsanctioned rallies.” And then it began: teachers started trying to scare their pupils away from demonstrating, painting Navalny as some sort of American agent, and the security services have proposed fining schools and parents whose children attend rallies and demonstrations.

Meanwhile, Navalny keeps on campaigning, even though he understands perfectly well that he will not be on the ballot. His campaign headquarters in dozens of cities have turned into centers of resistance. His coordinators are arrested, fined, and intimidated, but they keep on working. Today, the main watchword is “boycott.” The main task is to stay away from the polls. Putin may win, organizers aver, but he should be denied a large turnout; he should be denied the people’s mandate.

By the time this issue comes out it will probably be clear where all this is going, at least in the near term. Right now, the government is conducting a huge get-out-the-vote effort. Government workers have been ordered to show up at the polls, and saccharine-voiced social workers are telephoning the elderly to tell them that they can vote in their own homes. These are the same workers from whom old folks usually have to wait years to get the help they need, suddenly appearing out of nowhere.

Schoolchildren are being urged to go to polling stations on election day to vote in a separate referendum on some contrived issues involving their school life. The kids will come, and – voila! – their parents will show up too. By the way, the elections fall in the third quarter of the academic year, the longest and hardest, but it has been extended by two weeks to ensure that nobody goes on vacation and misses their chance to vote.

Meanwhile, over on Facebook, subtle intellectual arguments are being made that boycotting the elections only plays into Putin’s hands.

Ksenia Sobchak, who initially said that she would withdraw her candidacy if Navalny was barred from running, has not done so. Instead, she is making every effort to drag Navalny and his supporters into a debate. As a result, there is an argument going on between Navalny and Sobchak instead of between Navalny and Putin. Maybe that’s why they are letting her run?

So, once again it is March, and, just as it was 100 and 65 years ago, Russia is confronted with decisions that will determine the country’s fate for many years to come. And once again, denizens of the Kremlin are doing whatever they can to stay in power.

At a Navalny demonstration held on January 28 there were signs reading, “I want to see the Death of Stalin.” It was a brilliantly worded sign with double-edged meaning, underscoring the reality that Stalin has a tenacious hold on our country.

Let us hope that the younger generation’s laughter and disdain will finally drive him into the grave.