textfiles/politics/SPUNK/sp000182.txt

Excerpt from Emma Goldman's autobiography, _Living My Life_


When Angelica [Balabanoff] had suggested that I go to see
Lenin, I decided to work out a memorandum of the most
salient contradictions in Soviet life, but, not having heard
anything more about the proposed interview, I had not done
anything about the matter.  Angelica's telephone message one
morning, informing me that ``Illich'' was waiting to see
Sasha and me, and that his auto had come for us, was
therefore most disconcerting.  We knew Lenin was so crowded
with work that he was almost inaccessible.  The exception in
our favor was a chance we could not miss.  We felt that even
without our memorandum we should find the right approach to
our discussion; moreover, we should have the opportunity to
present to him the resolutions our Moscow comrades had
entrusted to us. 

Lenin's auto rushed at furious speed along the congested
streets and into the Kremlin, past every sentry without
being halted for _propusks_. At the entrance of one of the
ancient buildings that stood apart from the rest, we were
asked to alight.  An armed guard was at the elevator,
evidently already apprised of our coming.  Without a word,
he unlocked the door and motioned us within, then locked it
and put the key into his pocket.  We heard our names shouted
to the soldier on the first floor, the call repeated in the
same loud voice at the next and the next.  A chorus was
announcing our coming as the elevator slowly ascended.  At
the top a guard repeated the process of unlocking and
locking the elevator, then ushered us into a vast reception
hall with the announcement: ``_Tovarishtchy_ Goldman and
Berkman.'' We were asked to wait a moment, but almost an
hour passed before the ceremony of leading us to the seat of
the highest was resumed.  A young man motioned us to follow
him.  We passed through a number of offices teeming with
activity, the click of typewriters, and busy couriers.  We
were halted before a massive door ornamented with beautifully
carved work.  Excusing himself for just a minute, our
attendant disappeared behind it.  Presently the heavy door
opened from within, and our guide invited us to step in,
himself vanishing and closing the door behind us.  We stood
on the threshold awaiting the next cue in the strange
proceedings.  Two slanting eyes were fixed upon us with
piercing penetration.  Their owner sat behind a huge desk,
everything on it arranged with the strictest precision, the
rest of the room giving the impression of the same
exactitude.  A board with numerous telephone switches and a
map of the world covered the entire wall behind the man;
glass cases filled with heavy tomes lined the sides.  A large
oblong table hung with red; twelve straight-backed chairs,
and several arm-chairs at the windows.  Nothing else to
relieve the orderly monotony, except the bit of flaming red.

The background seemed most fitting for one reputed for his
rigid habits of life and matter-of-factness.  Lenin, the man
most idolized in the world and equally hated and feared,
would have been out of place in surroundings of less severe
simplicity.

``Illich wastes no time on preliminaries.  He goes straight
to his objective,'' Zorin had once said to me with evident
pride.  Indeed, every step Lenin had made since 1917
testified to this.  But if we had been in doubt, the manner
of our reception and the mode of our interview would have
quickly convinced us of the emotional economy of Ilich.  His
quick perception of its supply in others and his skill in
making the utmost use of it for his purpose were
extraordinary.  No less amazing was his glee over anything he
considered funny in himself or his visitors.  Especially if
he could put one at a disadvantage, the great Lenin would
shake with laughter so as to compel one to laugh with him.

His sharp scrutiny having bared us to the bone, we were
treated to a volley of questions, one following the other,
like arrows from his flint-like brain.  America, her
political and economic conditions---what were the chances of
revolution there in the near future?  The American Federation
of Labor---was it all honeycombed with _bourgeois_ ideology
or was it only Gompers and his clique, and was the rank and
file a fertile soil for boring from within?  The
I.W.W.---what was its strength, and were the anarchists
actually as effective as our recent trial would seem to
indicate?  He had just finished reading our speeches in
court. ``Great stuff!  Clear-cut analysis of the capitalist
system, splendid propaganda!''  Too bad we could not have
remained in the United States, no matter at what price.  We
were most welcome in Soviet Russia, of course, but such
fighters were badly needed in America to help in the
approaching revolution, ``as many of your best comrades had
been in ours.''  And you, _Tovarishtch_ Berkman, what an
organizer you must be, like Shatoff.  True metal, your
comrade Shatoff; shrinks from nothing and can work like a
dozen men.  In Siberia now, commissar of railroads in the Far
Eastern Republic.  Many other anarchists hold important
positions with us.  Everything is open to them if they are
willing to co-operate with us as true _ideiny_ anarchists.
You, _Tovarishtch_ Berkman, will soon find your place.  A
pity, though, that you were torn away from America at this
portentous time.  And you, _Tovarishtch Goldman?  What a
field you had!  You could have remained.  Why didn't you,
even if _Tovarishtch_ Berkman was shoved out?  Well, you're
here.  Have you any thought of the work you want to do?  You
are _ideiny_ anarchists, I can see that by your stand on the
war, your defense of `October,' and your fight for us, your
faith in the soviets.  Just like your great comrade
Malatesta, who is entirely with Soviet Russia.  What is it
you prefer to do?

Sasha was the first to get his breath.  He began in English,
but Lenin at once stopped him with a mirthful laugh.  ``Do
you think I understand English?  Not a word.  Nor any other
foreign languages.  I am no good at them, though I have lived
abroad for many years.  Funny, isn't it?''  And off he went
in peals of laughter.  Sasha continued in Russian.  He was
proud to hear his comrades praised so highly, he said; but
why were anarchists in Soviet prisons?  ``Anarchists?'' Ilich
interrupted; ``nonsense!  Who told you such yarns, and how
could you believe them?  We do have bandits in prison, and
Makhnovtsy, but no _ideiny_ anarchists.''

``Imagine,'' I broke in, ``capitalist America also divides
the anarchists into two categories, philosophic and
criminal. The first are accepted in highest circles; one of
them is even high in the councils of the Wilson
Administration.  The second category, to which we have the
honor of belonging, is persecuted and often imprisoned. 
Yours also seems to be a distinction without a difference. 
Don't you think so?'' Bad reasoning on my part, Lenin
replied, sheer muddle-headedness to draw similar conclusions
from different premises.  Free speech is a _bourgeois_
prejudice, a soothing plaster for social ills.  In the
Workers' Republic economic well-being  talks louder than
speech, and its freedom is far more secure.  The proletarian
dictatorship is steering that course.  Just now it faces
very grave obstacles, the greatest of them the opposition of
the peasants.  They need nails, salt, textiles, tractors,
electrification.  When we can give them these, they will be
with us, and no counter-revolutionary power will be able to
swerve them back. In the present state of Russia all prattle
of freedom is merely food of the reaction trying to down
Russia.  Only bandits are guilty of that, and they must be
kept under lock and key.

Sasha handed Lenin the resolutions of the anarchist
conference and emphasized the assurance of the Moscow
comrades that the imprisoned comrades were _ideiny_ and not
bandits.  ``The fact that our people ask to be legalized is
proof that they are with the Revolution and the Soviets,''
we argued.  Lenin took the document and promised to submit
it to the next session of the Party Executive.  We would be
notified of its decision, he said, but in any event it was a
mere trifle, nothing to disturb any true revolutionist.  Was
there anything else?  We had fought in America for the
political rights even of our opponents, we told him, the
denial of them to our comrades was therefore no trifle to
us. I, for one, felt, I informed him, that I could not
co-operate with a regime that persecuted anarchists or
others for the sake of mere opinion.  Moreover, there were
even more appalling evils.  How were we to reconcile them
with the high goal he was aiming at.  I mentioned some of
them.  His reply was that my attitude was _bourgeois_
sentimentality.  The proletarian dictatorship was engaged in
a life-and-death struggle, and small consideration could not
be permitted to weigh in the scale.  Russia was making giant
strides at home and abroad.  It was igniting world
revolution, and here I was lamenting over a little
blood-letting.  It was absurd and I must get over it.  ``Do
something,'' he advised; ``that will be the best way of
regaining your revolutionary balance.''

Lenin might be right, I thought.  I would take advantage of
his advice.  I would start at once, I said.  Not with any
work within Russia, but with something of propaganda value
for the United States.  I should like to organize a society
of Russian Friends of American Freedom, and active body to
give support to America's struggle for liberty, as the
American Friends of Russian Freedom had done in aid of
Russia against the tsarist regime.

Lenin had not moved in his seat during the entire time, but
now he almost leaped out of it.  He swung round and stood
facing us.  ``That's a brilliant idea!'' he exclaimed,
chuckling and rubbing his hands.  ``A fine practical
proposal.  You must proceed to carry it out at once.  And
you, _Tovarishtch_ Berkman, will you co-operate in it?'' 
Sasha replied that we had talked the matter over and had
already worked out the details of the plan.  We could start
immediately if we had the necessary equipment.  No
difficultly in that, Lenin assured us, we would be supplied
with everything---an office, a printing outfit, couriers,
and whatever funds would be needed.  We must send him our
prospectus of work and the itemized expenses involved in the
project.  The Third International would take care of
the matter.  It was the proper channel for our venture, and
it would afford us every help.

In blank astonishment we looked at each other and at Lenin. 
Simultaneously we began to explain that our efforts could
prove effective only if free from any affiliation with known
Bolshevik organizations.  It must be carried out in our own
way; we know the American psychology and how best to conduct
the work.  But before we could proceed further, our guide
suddenly appeared, as unobtrusively as he had left, and
Lenin held out his hand to us in good-bye.  ``Don't forget
to send me the prospectus,'' he called after us.