A fanatic? Most certainly. What is a fanatic but a man whose faith is impregnable to doubt? It is the faith that moves mountains, the faith that accomplishes. Revolutions are not made by Hamlets. The traditional “great” man, the “big personality” of current conception, may give to the world new thoughts, noble vision, inspiration. But the man that “sees every side” cannot lead, cannot control. He is too conscious of the fallibility of all theories, even of thought itself, to be a fighter in any cause.
Lenin is a fighter—revolutionary leaders must be such. In this sense Lenin is great—in his oneness with himself, in his single-mindedness; in his psychic positiveness that is as self-sacrificial as it is ruthless to others, in the full assurance that only his plan can save mankind.
XIV
On the Latvian Border
I
Petrograd, —I received a message from Chicherin, informing me that a thousand American deportees had arrived in Libau and were to reach Russia on March 22. A committee was to be formed, and arrangements made for their reception.
I had long ago suggested the necessity of a permanent organization for this purpose, because exiles were expected from different countries. So far nothing had been done, but now instructions from Moscow hastened matters. Mme. Ravitch, Commissar of Public Safety in the Petrograd District, called a conference at which a Deportees’ Commission was decided upon. I was appointed Chairman of the Reception Committee, and on March 19 we left Petrograd for the Lettish frontier. Sanitary Train No. 81, splendidly equipped, was placed at my disposal; two more trains were to follow in case the deportees’ group proved larger than expected.
In the dining-room, on the first day of our journey, a stranger introduced himself as “Tovarish Karus from Petrograd,” a middle-aged man with yellow face and furtive eyes. Presently another man joined us, younger and sociable.
“My name is Pashkevitch,” the young man announced. “Tovarishi from America,” he, continued in an official tone. “I greet you on this mission in the name of the Ispolkom: I am the representative of the Executive Committee of the Petrograd Soviet. May our mission be successful, and the American deportees prove of service to the Revolution.”
He looked around to observe the effect of his words. His eyes rested on me as if expecting a reply. I presented the other members of our Committee, Novikov and Miss Ethel Bernstein, the Ispolkom man acknowledging the introduction with an expansive etchen rad (very pleased), while Karus clicked his heels under the table in military fashion.
“And the other tovarish?” Novikov asked, looking at the silent Karus.
“Just an observer,” the latter replied. The train physician gave us a significant look.
“It would be interesting to hear our American comrades tell us something about the United States,” Pashkevitch remarked. “I have also been in America and in England,” he continued, “but it’s many years ago, though I still speak the language. Conditions there must have greatly changed since then. Will the American workers rise soon in revolution, I wonder? What is your opinion, Comrade Berkman?”
“Hardly a day passes,” I replied, smiling, “but I am asked that question. I don’t think that a revolution can be expected so soon in America because—”
“But in England?” he interrupted.
“Nor in England, I regret to say. Conditions and the proletarian psychology there seem to be entirely misunderstood in Russia.”
“You are pessimistic, tovarish,” Pashkevitch protested. “The war and our Revolution must have certainly had a great effect upon the proletariat abroad. We may expect revolutions there very soon, I am sure; especially in America, where capitalism has developed to the bursting point. Don’t you think so, Comrade Novikov?” he appealed to my assistant.
“I cannot agree with you, Comrade,” Novikov replied. “I am afraid your hope will not be realized so soon.”
“How you people talk!” Pashkevitch exclaimed, somewhat irritated. “Hope! It’s a certainty. We have faith in the workers. Revolutions abroad will be the salvation of Russia, and we depend on them.”
“Russia must learn to depend on herself,” I observed. “By our own efforts we must defeat our enemies and bring economic well-being to the people.”
“As for that, we are doing all that is possible,” Pashkevitch retorted hotly. “We Communists have the greatest and most difficult task that ever fell to any political party and we have accomplished wonders. But the cursed Allies will not leave us in peace; and the blockade is starving us. When I address the workers I always impress upon them the fact that their brothers abroad are about to come to the aid of Soviet Russia by making a Communist Revolution in their countries. That gives the people new courage and strengthens their faith in our success.”
“But when your promises fail to materialize, the disappointment of the masses will have a bad effect on the Revolution,” I remarked.
“They will materialize, they will,” Pashkevitch insisted.
“I see you comrades will not agree,” Karus spoke for the first time. “Perhaps the American tovarishi will tell us what they think of our Revolution.” His manner was quiet, but his look held something insistent in it. Later I learned that he was an examining magistrate of the Petrograd Cheka.
“We’ve been too short a time in Russia to form an opinion,” I replied.
“But you must have received some impressions,” Karus persisted.
“We have received many impressions. But we have not had time to organize them, so to speak, to clarify them into a definite view. Is it not also your feeling in the matter?” I asked, turning to the other members of the Committee.
They agreed with me, and Karus did not pursue the subject.
The country we traveled through was flat and swampy, with scattered villages in the distance, but
