Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“And we never shall!” he declared. “Never, not until he publicly recants. We have suffered in silence for five thousand years; that is long enough. To be told that even when the Socialist Millennium dawns we are condemned to remain outcasts… to suffer further… to be told ‘Get out! You’re not one of us’… That is too much!”

“Let us see you try and bridge that gap, Tamara,” said Fatiev slyly.

“As you well know, it’s the Bund that wanted to stay separate from us,” she said wearily. “They wanted to be the only representative body for working class Jews.”

“Abram, are you saying,” asked Oleg Karsenev, “that if Trotsky is amongst the convoy the Bund will refuse to hold a collection for them or supply the things you have promised?”

“No,” replied Usov evenly. “That we shall still do. They are as persecuted as we are. As you say, they are still exiles. But just don’t expect us to welcome him as our saviour.”

“I see,” replied Oleg Karsenev.

Turing to Fatiev, he asked:

“What about you, Comrade?”

“Our position is quite clear,” replied Fatiev firmly. “Ever since the split at the Second Congress, Trotsky has lost no opportunity to attack our leaders… Lenin, even Plekhanov, the founder of our Party. He is an opportunist who only seeks to make a name for himself at the expense of party unity and the revolutionary proletariat. If he is a sincere supporter of the working class struggle against the Autocracy, he would have spoken out in support of the Moscow workers and sent them material help. But, like Krustalyov, and all the rest of them, he was scheming to betray them all the time, in the hope of forcing a counterfeit compromise from the ruling class. Now that he has finally fallen foul of the authorities, we have no intention of extending our support to him. He deserves, and will get, nothing except our contempt. Nevertheless, he is only one among many and we do not wish our distrust of Trotsky to tarnish the others. If they have been misled by his oratory, then they are paying for it now and they should be punished no further. We will welcome them with open arms and show them that, though they are out of the stream of things, we shall not waver in carrying on the struggle on their behalf, strengthened by the example they set before us.”

“I see,” said Oleg Karsenev politely. “And what does that mean, exactly? I mean, in terms of action.”

“We shall hold a spontaneous demonstration and call upon the workers, peasants and exiles of Berezovo to march out of the town to greet them. Together, we shall bring the Deputies back to Berezovo, not as prisoners but in their true colours, as heroic victims of the revolutionary struggle!”

“You’re mad!” whispered Tamara Karseneva. “The Sibirsky will cut you down like dogs.”

“We are fully aware of the risks,” Fatiev replied calmly. “But if there is any violence, it won’t be us who starts it. Our people are too well disciplined to fall prey to the crude provocations that Steklov’s men might employ.”

“If there’s any provocation,” said Usov hotly, “it will be the sight of you marching down the middle of Alexei Street waving the bloody Red Flag. Fatiev, I warn you here and now, don’t come running into the Quarter when the fighting starts. Every door will be shut against you.”

Turning to the Karsenevas, he added firmly:

“On no account can the Bund have anything to do with such a senseless act that Fatiev proposes.”

“Then it’s just as well that we have never fooled ourselves that we could rely upon what is nothing more than a party of petit bourgeois shopkeepers!” said the Bolshevick leader. “There, at least, we can agree with Trotsky.”

“But, Fatiev, isn’t there a flaw in your argument?” asked Tamara Karseneva. “Consider: a few moments ago you said these people had betrayed the proletariat by their tactics within the Soviet. Now you are proposing to stage a demonstration which has every likelihood of ending in a bloodbath, on the pretext that you are greeting them as heroes? You can’t have it both ways. So make your mind up. Which is it to be?”